My Heart Is Too Hard To Break
by TheBroadwaywannabe
Summary: They had gathered in hopes of creating a facade that that particular day hadn't been wasted. They ended with proving no matter how hard you've become, trauma still leaves a scar. Past/eventual MarkRoger.
1. Chapter 1

**My Heart Is Too Hard To Break**

"Never have I ever" Maureen slurred, demonstrating the early signs of drunkenness. This is what long boughs of boredom and lack of energy to go out resulted in at the loft, drinking games lasting late into the night and often forgotten the next morning, their pointless nature lacking the importance to be remembered. The tight knit circle of companions had gathered, in hopes of creating the façade of an exhilarating atmosphere, an illusion that convinced each one that particular day hadn't been wasted. They were seated on the ground, weighted down heavily by large amounts of alcohol consummation, and battling on the strenuous edge of 'still lucid/ sober enough to maintain the ability to understand and recollected' and 'trashed beyond repair' struggling with the desire to remember at least a few occurrences of the night by the time morning breaks, preferably under the circumstances something important happened.

Although no one expected it to.

"Never have I ever…" She seemed to be contemplating, to a very unnecessary extent, what she should ask, and what she wanted to know most. Even in her teetering state, she was aware of the fact that alcohol, when the amount was generous enough, provided a fake confidence, and fake sense of security, or a lack of better judgment, leaving one very vulnerable to the world and the cold and truths and lies.

"eaten a dog" and yet she wasted her opportunity, knowing under the haze clouding her thought process that a question had been nagging her for years, a question she desperately wanted an answer to and could probably uptain through this game. But she couldn't recall what that was, the chemicals that had entered through her mouth and were currently flowing throughout her having stolen many aspects of her right mind and her ability to function and recall well. So she simply rambled something pointless off, well aware she would be intrigued and amused by the varying reactions that would erect from the diverse group before her.

"Well that was fucking dumb" Roger commented lazily rolling his eyes and slouching back against the foot of the couch brushing up against his girlfriend. Mimi laughed, making some sort of comment about Chinese food and taking a long drink from her bottle, uncaring if the preceding had been a reasonable excuse to drink or not.

"Was not!" Maureen yelped, more so for the sake of disagreeing with Roger than anything. Collins snorted retorting that they were both 'assholes for arguing, since neither was going to win' and Angel murmured a vague agreement, now far more interested in her lover than the game unfolding before her.

"You're a dumbass" Roger assaulted Maureen, still weighted to the same spot on the ground he had remained in for some time now.

"You're a fuck wad" Maureen shot back, her mind struggling to formulate witty comebacks under her current condition.

" I swear to fucking god, Maureen is just Roger with a vagina and vice versa" Mark chimed in receiving glares and inanimate objects flying at him curtsey of the two in question. He flipped them both the bird, a response that was usually linked to Roger, and announced with agreement from Joanne, that Maureen had to ask a different question because that was, in fact, the dumbest one they had heard all night ( and they had been playing for while). The diva glanced apprehensively between the filmmaker rocker and laywer debating with herself once more what it was that she wanted to desperately to know the answer to. Her strenuous thinking was to no prevail though, and she settled with the first question that her slowing mind could form.

"Never have I ever, had sex with Roger" She stated proudly fully aware Mimi would be the only to drink, but didn't mind taking an extra swig in the least. The dancer smiled and downed some more of the alcohol, meeting other eyes of the group as she did so, gazes searching hopefully to find something interesting.

And in the end all were fixated on Mark, who looked around quizzically, frantically, and apprehensively before he too, brought a bottle to his lips and tipped his head back.

And now it was silent.

And now the laughter stopped and the smiles faded

And now the light atmosphere drifted away and was replaced by a crashing heavy silence.

And now it was Collins turn to ask and he took his chances, knowing that it could result in complications and heart ach

" Never have I ever" he began, training his eyes on Roger who seemed in such a state of shock he had ceased functioning. "Had sex with Roger more than once"

Mimi, as expected, consumed some more of the drink grasped tightly in the fist.

And Mark did as well.

And now Roger sported a guilty look, while Mark's remained blank and raw and cold

And hard.

The silence weighed heavier

"Never have I ever" Angel cut in, heeding the fact it wasn't her turn "Had sex with Roger against my will"

And now only one took a swig

And all eyes remained fixated on that one, the last one they had ever expected

"Never have I ever" Joanne chimed, examining Mimi's mixture of utter astonishment and building rage "had sex with Roger because I desperately wanted or needed to"

And Mark took another drink.

"Never have I ever" Maureen joined the 'game' once more, aware of her heart beating heavily in her head " had sex with Roger over 10 times"

And the earlier two both drank once more " I meant more than 30 times"

And now the same unlikely one tipped the bottle back

No longer diverting the truth

Silence

Shaky breaths and darting eyes

Down casts gazes and astonished features

Distorted unknowing and stern truth

Silence

Deafening

Roaring

Screaming

Silence

"I am not" Mimi's voice penetrated the heavy atmosphere for the first time, although she was defying the rules of the game. "unconditionally and madly in love with Roger"

And Mark's face remained like stone

And the scars and bags and wrinkles that shouldn't be there were more prominent than ever.

He brought a fresh bottle to his lips, tipped his head back, and drank violently.

He finished the whole bottle.

And then stood up,

And walked away.


	2. In That Instant, It Started To Pour

A/n: Well, here is my new multi- chapter story. My posting may not be as frequent as it was with Where All The Scars Of The Nevers & Maybes Die, because A.) Its not pre- written and B.) I was casted as the lead role of the school play ( Belle, in Beauty and the Beast) as well as gymnastics, guitar, piano, voice etc etc. So anyway, this is chapter two, **set years before chapter one. **Alot of dialogue here, and, unlike most of my writing, not every little moment is described. It kinda skips diffrent intervals of diffrent amounts of time ranging from seconds- minutes. Review!

**IMPORANT!!** - **Everyone of my consistant devoted readers of Where All The Scars Of The Nevers & Maybes Die that have commented on all/ almost all my chapters I have a little token of appreciation for you. Since I can't offer much else. PM me, and tell me what you want me to do. It could a theme you want me to write a story about, it could be something you want me to write for someone, homework you want me to do ( only writing homework please, no math or anything) it could be an entire story outline, I could be a beta for your story, damn whatever you can think of ( and is somewhat resonable) PM me with it, and its yours. I will begin doing this for all my multi chapter fics, by the way so watch our for that.**

**Disclaimer ( I'm only doing it once):** Dont own RENT, didn't make it, if I did I would be pissing myself.

**Warning:** Slash, sex, langauge, violence, rape, jesus christ **I** wrote it

**In That Instant, It Started To Pour**

(_Years before chapter one._ _Pre __heavy __drug use/ addiction, pre withdrawal, beginning of April and Roger_)

The empty air and stark sky contrasted the light dancing on the snow as the two men made their way across the jagged side walk. The two were engrossed within the content of their conversation, leaving themselves very much oblivious to the abnormally silent streets, a result of the late hour and biting cold. The conversation in particular, held the air of misplaced tension, for under almost all circumstances, an evident lack of awkwardness between the two was firmly present. Finishing each others sentences was so common it was almost and insult to their masculinity and never could they exhaust the act of filling rare occasions of silence. And yet now discomfort and rigidity was so apparent, each heated exchange hung heavily in the air, words remaining unsaid heard just as well as those being voiced.

"Roger you're such a fucking ass hole sometimes"

"Its not my fucking fault your getting your panties in a bunch for NO. GODDAMN. REASON."

"Yes, alright, because using drugs frequently and the crooks of your arms attaining more and more track marks every time I look isn't anything to be worried about in the least. Sorry all my fault, not like you're risking your life or getting fucking addicted or anything."

"Fuck you Mark"

"Ohhh wow you're actually sober enough to remember my name for once, good fucking job!"

"Would you stop pissing yourself over this MOM? Jesus Christ just because I know how to live my fucking life-"

"Getting addicted to smack is how you live your life-"

"I am not fucking addicted! And I am not ever going to be either. If you would just calm your ass, you would see that asshole. What's got you all hyped up on defense mode anyway? You all tense because you still don't have the balls to come out of the fucking closet or something?" That was a line crossed. Tense silence for a few moments.

"How many times do we have to go over this fuck wad? I'm not fucking gay or bi or whatever you call it" Mark murmured "Jesus I don't know why I put up with all your shit"

Roger halts in the middle of the sidewalk, throwing his arms back in frustration

"Oh so its all my fucking fault now huh?" Mark stopped walking and turned to face his best friend "Why don't we talk about what you do wrong ass wipe? How about-"

And then it happened. Roger couldn't even finish the fucking sentence before the solid frame of a large man came barreling across the street, tackling Mark and wrestling him into submissive position. Shadows danced nightmarishly across the vast lonely landscape. And In the end, there Mark was, his arms locked behind his back, a much stronger larger pair looped forcibly within the crooks and a menacing stale breath caressing his neck.

"Hey there boys" came a deep throaty whisper "feel like a little fun?" And although no actual threat was blatantly exposed at the moment, the implication was enough to send Roger into defense mode

"Get your fucking hands off of him right. Fucking . Now."

"And who's gunna make me hair boy ? What you his boyfriend or something ?"

"I swear to fucking god if you hurt him-"

"Roger just go. Go while you can"

And then the alleged mugger pulled a long, glimmer knife from his pocket. It glinted harshly in the dull light, picking up stray rays of illumination.

"Roger go now, run fucking run I'm serious, just fucking go now"

"Hey pretty boy, I got a deal for you-" Roger winced

"We don't have any money-"

"Shut up." He brought the knife dangerously close to Mark's neck "I have a deal. You and me screw, right here, right now, and I'll let your little buddy here go"

Silence

"Roger no please don't do this." Desperation "Go fucking go GO RUN DAMN IT RUN, ILL BE FINE DON'T YOU FUCKING DO THIS"

"You wont hurt him?"

"ROGER NO!"

"Of course not"

"NO! DON'T!"

A beat

"Fine. Just let him go"

"NO!"

"Of course"

They were led into a near by dark alleyway. The dark figure pulled Mark around roughly, tying his wrists together with a thick piece of rope and then to an old rusted pipe erecting off the side of an abandoned brick building. When he was finished he stood abruptly and turned to Roger, giving him a rough smug smile.

"Well boy we gunna do this or not?"

"Please Roger, you don't have to do this, not for me, please. Please don't let him do this to you. Just go. I don't fucking deserve it, this could seriously fuck you up - "

Roger scoffed, narrowing his eyes, catching Mark's with his own

"Its worth it"

The man didn't even kiss him. His lips made no contact to any part of Rogers body. Not once. He simply stood, his expectant gaze drilling into Roger, who slowly began removing his jeans.

And Roger.. After a lifetime of detaching, it was far too simple to do so at that moment. Far simpler than it should be.

"Wait. What about Mark? We're going to fuck, so let him go."

"I said I wouldn't hurt him if we fucked, I never said I would let him go"

"You mean, your going to make him watch?"

"You're a smart one aren't you ?"

"No no no no and just no. I am not going to do this if your going to make him watch"

"Ahh" He sounds quit amused "But I" He struts over and rolls Mark's sleeve up "think" he pushes the metal to Mark's pale skin, dragging it swiftly and making a deep cut "you will"

Marks gasps, yet remains contained. He holds back any other reactions, because if he gives in, Roger might as well.

"No! Fuck, fuck okay alright just okay just don't hurt him.. "

"Roger, go. Look its not worth it! Just go -"

"Not without you"

And now Roger was breaking a little, searing pain making one of its rare, almost non existent, appearances as his eyes danced over the blood. Mark's blood.

Because, of course, he could let himself feel, as long as it was for someone else. Anyone but himself.

"That's what I thought."And then Rogers front was pushed against a cold blank wall, and his boxers were around his ankles. And everything about the scene seemed just too perfect. The vast silence of the winter air, the fresh coats of snow beginning to drift from the sky, a vain resort to cover the blood. To make up for some of the ugliness. The flickering street light, dull and indifferent, because all was lost anyway. A back alleyway, as innocent and incriminated as anything, because everyone knew things different, everyone sees things different, and everyone chooses not to see different things. The ground littered with shattered glass, varying objects that probably had meant something once. The utter blackness just calling to be disturbed. The cold stark brick etching reality into the palms of his hands as he felt himself being entered.

And he tried not to make a sound, because if he gave the slightest indication that this was hurting him in any way

It could very easily shatter Mark.

He remains un responsive

"Damn you, make some noise or your friends getting fucking cut up" And so Roger began moaning and screaming and begging and anything else he could think of.

And the last thing he wanted to do was meet Mark's eyes

He was so fucking terrified of what might be there

Because he wasn't sure what he would see

And Human nature is to fear the unknown

But just as the mugger began to climax, sending Roger into one of his own

He cant help but catch Mark's eyes

Mark, Who's face was frozen with such (emotional) pain he looked as if he were about to drop dead on the spot. Die because he just couldn't bear seeing this happen to Roger. Anything would be better than this. He almost wished the mugger had cut him up. It would have hurt so much less.

When the mugger was finished he ordered Roger stay as he was. He untied Mark and now shoved him face first into the wall to which he got harsh protest from Roger.

"What the fuck are you doing? I swear to fucking god, if you lay a finger on him" And he just smiled evilly in return and matched the rockers cold gaze with a one of smug amusement

"Oh I'm not going to, you are""What?"

"You" He murmurs harshly, dragging the blade suddenly across Roger's arm "are going to fuck him now"

"No. No I'm fucking not I am not going to-"

"Roger, its alright, just do it, I'll be fine"

"But Mark I -"

"Please, I cant let what you did go to waste, just please"

And so Roger gulped back the vomit rising in his throat, not from disgust of who he was about to do, but what he was about to do. What he was about to do to the person he cared the most about. And he entered Mark slowly, as not to hurt him

"You aright? " He whispers hating himself more with every moment that passed

"Yeah, im fine just go ahead" Mark assured through teeth, gritted in attempt to endure the pain. Roger pushed a little more, but stopped again, another vain attempt not to harm Mark

"You are going to fuck him hard and fast right now, or you're both fucking dead"

And so, apprehensively, Roger complied and began pumping in an out of Mark as hard as he could. He felt the bile rising in his throat. He felt like he didn't deserve to be alive at the moment. He felt like he was going to pass out.

And eventually they both climaxed and the world seemed to spin out from under them. And the mugger smiled in a satisfied manner before leaving a large slash down Rogers side and across Mark's hip ' just for the hell of it'. And he left them. Just as the world had, lying on the cold ground. Bleeding and shaking, and hoping that maybe someday this would heal.

But they knew it never would.


	3. Because The Tension's Like A Fire

**A/n: **Probably the shortest chapter ever. Dont worry, I'm posting two chapters today. Just thought this should stand on its own. Not sure when I'll update, I have drama rehersal everday after school this week, since I'm the lead and all. ( Ha, I love being able to say that)

**Because the tension's like a fire **

(_Fast forward, now in the present, where the first chapter took place. A few seconds after Mark walked away_)

A door slammed

And then more silence

The group merely remained sitting indolently, for what else could they do ?

Eyes revealed varying emotion, and lack there of.

Some were set on Roger, but others felt as if he was the last thing belonging in their line of vision.

They all remained silent and unmoving, for it had only been a few seconds, despite the duration feeling it stretched for hours.

The only motion stirring the deteriorating room was Roger's commencement of subconsciously rubbing at his side. The old scar under his sweater.

It hadn't even been a minute

And his eyes were the coldest of all


	4. Like A Bad Movie, I'm Trouble

**Like a bad movie, I'm trouble**

(_Years before, high point of April, heaviest point of addiction/use, pre withdrawal, pre April's suicide/depression, one and a half years post chapter 2_)

"Maureen you need to stop with this shit, Mark doesn't deserve to get fucking treated this way! How many guys have you slept with in the last week you little slut? What the fuck did Mark ever do to deserve this? Nothing. You need to fucking stop playing with him" He was sober for once. Not for long, he was already beginning to shake

"Well Marky doesn't really seem to care, I don't see him out there fighting for me! He knows what's going on, why the hell doesn't he do anything?"

"Is that what this is all about ? Jesus Maureen, he doesn't get pissed because he doesn't want to fucking lose you. And yeah, he does know. Do you know how this hurts him? He'll never admit it, but It absolutely kills him when you come home from another late night with your shirt cut down to your fucking belly button, looking like a slut, smelling of sex and smoke and whatever the fuck else." She scoffs

"Ha, funny because you know what hurts him more ? You know what I can tell absolutely nags the back of his mind constantly ,and what fucking breaks his heart every time? What hurts him the most? It KILLS him. When YOU come home high every fucking day!"

Silence

"Get out"

"Fucking make me"

"GET THE FUCK OUT"

The loft door slides open and Mark enters, he deposits his belongings on the sofa and makes his way toward the now silent pair standing in the main room. His smile quickly wavers upon sensing the heavy tension of the room. Before he has a chance to speak, however, he is quickly interrupted by Maureen, who wastes no time in pouncing on him and capturing him in a deep kiss. As he returns the favor, his eyes shut in bliss, while Maureen's remain open and rest upon Roger. She gives the musician a daring, devilish look, one that said 'see he's all mine, what the fuck are you going to do about it' before looking back at the filmmaker. She shifts slightly, now fully enticed with the little game she's decided to play, and grabs him through his pants. She is satisfied when the moan she was intending on erected from the other, and she smiles into his kiss, because this would kill Roger she knew, and she couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

The sight of the loft door left ajar was the only thing that met her as she looked up

* * *

He was vaguely aware through the mist of heroin clouding his mind, he was doing something wrong. That what or whom ever was screaming and fighting under him meant something and/or everything. He was aware that he had used more of the drug than he conventionally did, a desperate attempt to dull the pain. He almost knew he really wanted this, but that fact was debatable.

Maybe the drug made him want it.

Want HIM.

And yet, whom else was the reason he fled for the drug in the first place?

He didn't care

He forcefully entered the being below him, despite his unawareness of exactly when his erection had sprung nor when clothing had been discarded. The figure below him screamed and yelled and begged, yet Roger had a feeling it wasn't for his own sake. That he was begging for Roger not to fuck himself up more.

He didn't care

All he knew was this felt a thousand times better than it had ever before. He should, and if the drug were absent would, probably have been hurt that the figure below him was lacking an erection of their own.

But he didn't feel anything

He didn't care

That's why he took the drug in the first place

And then his fingers were wrapping in blonde hair as he began to climax

The other sat limply

He almost remembered giving the other that bruise on his jaw, and that swollen eye a few minutes ago.

Almost knew that cut on the others thin arm and the blood was due to him

Almost knew how this would seriously fuck with him

Hurt him

Already was hurting HIM

Would fuck both of them up

He didn't care.


	5. The Minor Fall, The Major Lift

(_Post April, midst of withdrawal, 4 months post last chapter) _

"Shh Roger, It's all right, It'll be alright"

"April?"

"No It's Mark."

"Mark, It hurts" He winced. But what could he do? He wasn't capable of simply dismissing the excruciating pains of withdrawal. He was not the one causing it, nor was he the one with the power to halt it, or the ability to over throw it. And if he could trade his place, take the pain from Roger and endure it for himself.

He would in a heart beat.

"I know Roger, I know, you'll be alright" He pulled the man closer, melding his arms firmly around their familiar and proper place . The others sweat rapidly began to soak through his shirt, the violent tremors causing his own arms to shake .

"Mark" He's sobbing now, his thin frame shaking with the effort. Yet it's a dry sob, tears only falling as a result of his wrenching body, not a manifest of inner tragedy and heart ache.

"I'm going to go get you some more blankets, alright ?" He wanted it too bad. He needed to get away.

"Don't leave me"

"Roger you're shaking incredibly hard, I'm getting you blankets. I'll be right back. I promise"

"She promised too" Desperation. Fear

" I'm not her"

_Selfish bastard_

He was selfish fucking ass hole and he knew it.

_Hypocrite._

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out the bottle of scotch.

_Liar_

He drank an amount that would conventionally leave ones senses hinder, yet under the circumstance your body had become immune to large and frequent amounts of alcohol assumption, could remain ineffective.

Under the circumstance you were an alcoholic

_Addict_

His own desperate need for another drink subsided, and he figured drinking a little over half the bottle as he just had would leave him satisfied long enough to tend to Roger.

_Bastard_

He replaced the bottle

_Hypofuckingcrite_

Grabbed blankets

_You don't fucking deserve to be alive_

And returned to Roger, who had remained in this state of withdrawal long enough to miss Mark's addiction.

He held and consoled the other just as he had for a month now

He made empty promises to soothe

He cried a little

Because he knew

For hope, just as promises, can be hallow

And he still wanted it

And yet, this time he couldn't get away

And as he looked at Roger, so vulnerable and desperate, a contrast to his commonly angry and violent self, the lack of lights and bills pilling up, the empty loft, all past inhabitants abandoning them, just as the world tended to do. Why was it always them forgotten ? Condemned ?

The want transitioned into a need.

And he found himself atop the shaking figure

Discarding garments as rapidly as he was capable

Because this, he actually had control over

"Mark?" like a small child

"Shhh" He rubbed the inside of the vulnerable ones thigh, groped at him through his sweat laden pajama pants. "Its alright, its just me"

"Mark , I.. I'm cold"

"Shhh its alright" He entered him slowly, a forceful air present " You'll be alright"

He began to pump. Hard

"Mark, it hurts" and really, he was referring to the withdrawal pains, and the sexual ones being forced upon him. Yet he was oblivious to what was happening. Simply knew it hurt.

"I know Roger, it'll get better, trust me. Its just me, Mark"

"It hurts Mark"

"It'll get better. I promise"

Silence, He pumped harder

"Please Mark make it stop, let me have a hit, make it stop. Please"

"I can't let you. It'll get better Roger"

Silence

"Mark, please"

Silence

"Mark, I thought you loved me"

. 


	6. Rubato

**A/n: **Super super super short interlude-ish chapter, trying to keep this pattern of time periods going., while starting to memorize the shit load of lines I have. I decided with all the rehearsals I have this week, the posting would be now or never. Poem verses by the amazing Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Rubato is a musical term; temporary disregarding of strict tempo to allow an expressive quickening or slackening, usually without altering the overall pace

By the way, I'm not getting enough so

**NO MORE CHAPTERS TILL MORE REVIEWS**

Haha, I'm such a bitch.

**Rubato**

_(The 'present' of the story once more, One minute after Mark walked away)_

One more minute

One more agonizing minute of clear visibility through the walls of the shut off man.

The shut off men.

A few more seconds of pure vulnerability, of observing some of the secrets they so tediously and ravenously protected.

None of them wanted that glimpse as bad as they had thought

One last minute off utter unwavering silence that held the air of such ground breaking devastating truth

A silence that placed the wait of knowing on ones mind.

A beer bottle shattered against the wall.

A few moments later, the muffled sound of a lamp breaking behind a closed door

_Always so in sync. Despite how absoulty unfitting for eachother they were. Even when breaking the fuck down . They Still were so fucking in sync._

Mimi's breath implausibly hitched.

And all eyes cast to Roger, at the two tears sliding down his cheeks

And no one moved to comfort him,

Some pretended it was because they were shocked, some disgusted, some angry, some completely emotionless.

But really it was the hurt or the fear of knowing who he really wanted.

"Roger" Barely audible, a whisper, and yet in a deathly silent room, it was amplified. Loud enough to twist ones stomach. Knot their chest. All eyes cast to Mimi

And for some reason he couldn't keep the verses of some poem he never recalled learning out of his head.

_The stream will cease to flow_

_The wind will cease to blow_

_The clouds will cease to fleet_

"You don't love him" she wasn't good at lying " He doesn't really love you" Horrible at lying.

_The heart will cease to beat_


	7. Of Fallen Angels On The Ceilings

A/n: Yupp. Ha funny, in the second part when Roger's playing the piano, I am like the exact opposite as I made him. I have an over powering desire to learn everything, even aspects useless under my circumstances, about music. Everything. And supposedly I am the best student my music teacher has ever had when it comes to music. Music theory and performance. I think she gets carried away, I'm not like a prodigy or anything. I just have a passion for it. Anyway here we are. I seriously appreciate those of you who comment, specifically you few who comment on every chapter.

I am not getting a lot of reviews besides those however and wonder why. Is my story not worthy? I certainly do like writing it.

**Of fallen angels on the ceilings**

(_One month post withdrawal, five months post last chapter_)

And there he was again, the dim moon light shadowing his handsome features. Another late night ( early morning? What was the time?) spent outside the secured bathroom door, undetected by it's inhabitants. Of leaning his back against the cool wood that sparked a variation of hatred at the very sight, a result of past and present circumstances. And he wished with everything he had that he had the balls to go in there and stop him. Even more than that, wished the other could have just stayed quite, so he didn't have to know. He didn't want to know.

Didn't want to know Mark was doing that.

Mark was, in one aspect or another, turning into him

The last thing he'd ever want

Mark was locked away with a razor and his thoughts or lack there of

And Roger was locked out with old scars and cowardice

Because he still clung to that silly naïve illusion that Mark was invincible.

Still liked to believe it

And despite knowing better, the childish fear and simple desire for ignorance, for bliss as he knew in the past was overpowering. For the sight on the other side was one that would confirm mortality. Confirm such a chilling array of secrets.

He didn't want to fucking know.

And so he sat on the cold floor in the middle of the night, as he had been doing more and more frequently

Because the floorboards just had to fucking squeak every time Mark crept his way to the bathroom.

Because Roger just had to care so fucking much about him

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

Yet as he began to doze, for most nights were wasted in this exact way, and he lacked great amounts of sleep due to it, the terrifying abnormal occurred.

A faint sound muted by the door

Yet its utter displacement made sharpness. Panic.

It was merely a hiss of pain, followed by a soft yelp of the same sort.

And usually, this would be expected when ones arms were being mutilated by sharp edges

But never with Mark. Never did a disturbance occur. It was almost as if he were numb while he did this. Never even shedding a tear. Not any Roger had hear anyway.

And so Roger attempted to calm his racing heart, because really not the slightest amount of danger or evidence has presented itself, and he had no reason to worry.

And yet something felt just so blatantly wrong

Something was just so eerie and haunting and just plain wrong

As if someone had suddenly hit a minor chord amidst a major song

A sob

It evolved into a chilling diminished chord

One of turmoil and plagiarized tragedy. Of restriction and undesired ability to remember.

And then Roger let out a breath, for he knew Mark had not hit a vein, was not about to keel over or end anything.

He just knew. He always did.

The sound of plastic clattering against the tile followed by harsher violent sobbing startled him, and he peaked under the door to quench his curiosity .

Through the slim line of vision he saw it

A razor glinting in the cheap light

Blood stained

He began sobbing as well

Because he knew they could both be breathing

Hearts could beat all they wanted

But that hardly meant they were alive

They were anything but alive.

* * *

Roger cringed at the strike of a foul chord and pulled his hands away. Damn thing was fifths out of tune anyway. The old black polished bench squealed in protest under his shifting weight. Most were unaware of the fact he played the piano, when in reality He had learned to play piano before he did the guitar. He had always been pretty fucking great at it too. But when your intent is one of being a rocker, living and performing the way he did, perusing the art of piano playing as he had in the past simply wasn't suiting. Besides, extensive piano playing resulted in eventual requirement in extending ones knowledge of music theory beyond the intermediate level. And he simply had never been great at musical theory. Too much to know, too much to be learned. He simply played what he played. He had no desire to extend his knowledge unnecessarily. And yet the moment he discovered an older (29 year old) teniate of the building had recently passed away, leaving an aged grand piano in her wake, he simply couldn't resist. No one wanted it, and so the marvelous item, keys dingy and paint scratched, was simply dismissed, condemned to deteriorate along with the old building.

It was bitter sounding, even when playing major chord progressions, and radiated an essence of haunting cold. Resentment and turmoil. And yet he couldn't stay away from it.

And so he sat and tried to forget the prior night

Tried to dismiss at least some of its heavy presence with the pointless musing chords, blue minors, out of place sharps, and black diminished.

And yet he couldn't rid himself of that nagging desperate feeling

That knot in his chest

The piano bench shifted ever so slightly, and he turned to meet his eyes with Marks

"Hey"

"Hey"

Mark scratched at his sleeved arm, and Roger was sure he was about to lose it right there.

Instead he waited for Mark to speak again, for he didn't trust himself at the moment

"This is a C, right?" Mark questioned prodding at a key. Roger merely nodded his head. A few moments of contemplative silence ensued before Roger exhaled sharply

"Mark.."

"Yeah?" And god he just wanted to make it better. He wanted more than anything to make it so Mark didn't have to hurt like that. Anything so Mark could just let it go.

And then he was kissing him and sobbing into Mark's lips, and he didn't remember doing it, but he must have. Because there he fucking was. And Mark simply sat unresponsively until Roger pulled away and began to sob into the younger mans chest. "Please Mark.." And he didn't know what he was pleading for or what he wanted really, but its all he could say, and then his lips were forcefully against Mark's again and this time the filmmaker responded. Yet it was in a way lacking emotion. More of a response or reaction that it was a desire.

Didn't matter.

Didn't matter as Roger pushed him down, and Mark groped at his pants. Mark simply cared about others, very specifically Roger, far more than most. Far more than himself. And god he would do anything to make Roger happy.

And at the moment, this wasn't what he wanted

Roger wasn't who he wanted

And yet when one pushed hard enough

Mark simply let them.


	8. Une Ombre

A/n: I hope you're smart enough to figure out what the memory referred to in the begging, and several times throughout this long ass chapter is. Title is shadow in French.

I only got one review last chapter, and despite being appreciative of that reviewer because they review ALL my chapters, and how could I ever thank them, I am pissed. Just fucking review, Jesus Christ its not that hard.

**Une Ombre**

_( 3 weeks after the previous chapter) _

He hated that damn clock.

Its mocking tick tick tick tick. The way it made him anticipate a startling boom.

Tick tick tick

He hated how Maureen just HAD to have her protests in those shitty neighborhoods.

He hated himself for neglecting to keep Mark within his presence before leaving the protest.

He hated the dry paralyzing fear welling up, and his lack of ability to force it down.

He hated the memory that was causing it.

Tick tick tick

God Mark should have been back ages ago

Tick tick tick

Oh god, had it happened again

Tick tick tick

No it couldn't. It couldn't It couldn't It couldn't,

Tick tick tick

Oh Jesus it was all his fault, he should have stayed with him

Ticktickticktick

He had been unable to find Mark after his first search, perhaps he should try again

Ticktickticktickticktick

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. It happened again. It had to. What if he wasn't as lucky this time? What if he had been killed?

His heart began pounding harder

Beatbeatbeatbeat

And the memory began to rise as he tried with all the strength he could muster to repress it

The heavy tingling feeling of terror and anticipation settled in his stomach at the realization another 10 minutes had passed

Why didn't he just fucking stay with him? It could have been that fucking simple. That fucking easy

Ticktickticktick

The loft door slid open

He held his breath, a lame attempt in readying himself for what he may or may not see

He turned

Mark standing in the doorway

His breath rushed back, and the memory shrunk to a size where he could swallow it

Where it wasn't threatening him

And there Mark was, standing in the doorway blood dribbling from his lip, above his eyebrow, and absolutely covering his hands and majority of his clothes. His glasses were knocked askew and one lens was crushed. He quivered slightly, but seemed steady despite his abnormally pale complexion and occasional involuntary spasm.

Oh god it had happened again

"Mark!" He rushed to the younger mans side, a certain dread beginning to lull his mind

"Mark, what happened? Are you alright?"

"I was mugged, What does it look like? " And how are you supposed to tell if one is hurting when the only thing that ever escaped their lips were sarcastic comments?

"Well jesus, are you alright?" He began to shake a little harder " Mark?"

"I think I mighta killed him"

"What?"

"I managed the knife he drew out of his hands. When he charged me I stuck the knife out and closed my eyes. It went into his stomach. Then I ran"

" You need to lie down, lets clean you u-"

"I'll be right back"

"What?" Bewilderment. Mark silently limped toward his bedroom. Making it to the door before Roger intervened "Mark what the fuck? Where are you going?"He merely turned the door knob and hobbled inside, the sounds of a drawer being opened clumsily was evident "Mark, what the hell?"He made his way to the door frame to examine the circumstance.

Now he wonders if he really would have ever wanted to know

Mark is hunched over near his bed side table, something reflecting the light grasped in his hand. His head tips back slightly before he replaces the item and turns to leave

"Roger! What the fuck, why did you follow me I said I'd be right fucking back"

"I followed you because you looked like you were about to pass out ass hole. What the fuck did you just do?" Mark tried to push past him to no avail, for Roger grabbed at his arm firmly.

"Do you smell like alcohol?" The shaking had ceased to an extent.

"What? I don't fucking know, I was just mugged in an alley way in New York City, only god knows why the hell I would." Roger sighs

"Go shower, you're covered in blood" and the other complies silently. When he is sure the

shower is running, and being discovered was not a feasibility he crept his way back in Mark's room. He danced across the littered floor, coming to rest at an old beaten up dresser. He reaches for a handle and yanks at it, finding its intent is not one of opening. He begins yanking at it fiercely, the only result being a disturbing crash as the entire bed side table flipped over. As the wood landed, thudding loudly on the ground, an array of little metal objects rained onto the hard wood floor as well, making sharp disoriented thunders upon meeting the ground. He held his breath for a few pain staking moments, and upon realization Mark remained unaware of this little dilemma proceeded with his investigation.

The blind was closed and in the blackness of the late night, he as unable to make distinctions as to what had fallen from the dresser. Deciding turning on the light was too risky, for it most likely didn't work anyway, he chose to pull the blind back, allowing the moonlight to file in.

The pale rays cast silvers pools upon the ground illuminating the dented hard wood floor

The varying objects forgotten thrown about

And finally caught the countless blades scattered across the ground

Restlessly glinting, dancing in white rays

So damn many of them

All those fucking glinting blades

covered in blood

He backed away slowly

And then he ran

He ran into the bathroom, heeding the fact that Mark was in the shower, and threw up violently in the toilet

He couldn't get that picture out of his mind

And when nothing was left he continued to dry heave

And didn't notice Mark, wrapped merely in a towel, beside him rubbing his back until he was nearly done

He wasn't sure how long Mark had been consoling him, nearly the entire ordeal he was sure.

Mark had just been mugged and he was already taking care of Roger. As per fucking usual.

"Mark" He leans back against the wall as Mark hands him a glass of water and brushes his hair away

"Yeah Rog?, shh relax"

"Why do you -" Then he recalled. Mark was plaid only in a towel. His gaze fell feverishly to Mark's arms.

Covered

Everywhere

Angry slash after slash

Some raw and bleeding , some scabbing, others faded old and a sickly color brown

His pale skin was an angry, raw, vibrant, sickly red

Deep, deep red gashes, lining each arm from the wrist up to the inner elbow

Varying in size, age, depth, length etc.

All

Fucking

Over

He leans back over the toilet and is violently sick once more.

He is trembling violently when he finishes

"Why do you cut yourself Mark?" And Mark goes rigid for a few moments before blinking a few times

"Huh?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Roger what are you talking about?" A baffled appearance has set on his features

"Why do you fucking cut yourself?"

" Roger, I have no idea what you're talking about, I don't cut myself"

"What the fuck are you talking about? Look at your arms! I know what the hell cuts look like Mark, Its not like I haven't done it hundreds of times before"

"Roger c'mon you're sick and tired, now I do not cut myself"

"But the razors and-"

"C'mon" He helps him up and begins to lead him to his room

"But Mark just look at your -"

"Its alright Rog" He helps the other into his pajama pants and leads him to bed

"But you… I.. you're … you .. "

"Shh its alright go to sleep. Night Rog"

"But you cut yourself Mark!"

"Shh, Roger just go to sleep. And I . Do . Not . Cut . My . Self." he says firmly, shutting the door behind him.

Sighing, he pushes his back against the wood and sinks to the ground.

The wounds begin to bleed.

* * *

Roger awakes to Mark shaking him fiercely. The room is dark, and it cannot be past 3 a.m.

'Rog, its alright you were having a nightmare"

"Mark" he sits up abruptly, because the nightmare was simply a manifest of what was nagging him. " Mark, when you didn't come home on time tonight, it scared the shit out of me. I was so fucking terrified. I thought it… IT happened again." He whispers the later part of the sentence, fearing what such a fragile subject, never spoken of once since its occurrence, may result in. "And oh god, I couldn't imagine what I would do and -"

"Hey now, I'm fine. Jesus man, don't start worrying about everything. That's my job. Don't pull a Mark on me now" Mark smiles lightly, letting it waver as Roger doesn't return the gesture.

"Roger?"

"Oh god Mark, in the nightmare I saw it all again. It happened again, just like when it actually did. It was like reliving it. God Mark did I really do that to you? Did he really make us?" And Mark winced, Because this was the only sexual encounter between them (expect possibly the one on the piano bench, which was never spoken of, for Mark was seriously unsure if Roger was actually THERE mentally at the time) that Roger could recall, the only one has was aware of.

And perhaps he was lucky not to remember; because Mark just couldn't fucking forget.

"Its alright though. It happened. You had to, it wasn't your fault. Regret is inevitable, but wallowing in it will merely lead to irresolvable resentment. And then where will we be ? Almost everyone deals with unimaginable pain, and we aren't any special case. And we know better than to resent fait, right?"

"I guess.. But.. When you didn't show up I thought… Oh god Mark, you're alright" And then he's launching forward and catching Mark's lips with his own. And Mark, he isn't sure what to think at this point. And really he doesn't care.

He needs this, and wants it.

So he kisses back because, god they're alright

And Rogers here, and the HIV isn't after him yet

And at that thought all he wants is to get closer , because he never wants to think of letting go.

So both shirts are quickly discard, curtsey of his need to always remain with Roger, and Roger is reaching into his own dresser for a condom

And the only thought daring to entice Mark's mind was one of implacable, yet positive emotion.

Because this, he was sure, was the first time they would have sex

And mean it.

* * *

"It was a mistake Mark!"

"A mistake!?! You fucking attack, then proceed to have sex with me for 3 hours and it was a fucking mistake!??!"

"I wasn't think-"

"Bull shit Roger! Fucking bullshit! You weren't high, you weren't grieving, or suffering from trauma or withdrawal or any fucking thing else you could blame it on! For once It was you Roger! God damn it" He kicks the wall " Jesus Roger you're HI fucking V infected and I still let you fuck me. What were you bored? Scared? Felt like you were losing control so decided you needed control over something?" His face is red now. He never screams. Ever.

"Mark, it was a -"

"Fuck you, just fuck you. I'm not one of you're fucking druggie groupies, one of your damn followers. I am not about to let a fucking washed up ex- amateur rock star ex fucking heroin addict have any fucking power over me you bastard." He softens a little, realizing he's gone a little too far. Scared at how little he cares. "So tell me Roger, why. just fucking why?"

"It was a mistake" Roger sighs.

Mark turns and makes his way out side of the door, leaving the atmosphere with a few heavy words to cling to

"Yeah, it was a fucking mistake"


	9. Do I Remind You Of Something You Lost?

A/n: ( While trying to avoid giving anything away, although you'll discover who I am speaking of within the second sentence. ) He doesn't recall the times he was taken advantage of. He only recalls the times he took advantage of you-know-who or -you-will-know-who-once-you-read-the-second-sentence. Updated again because I HAD to fix a spelling error.

RE FUCKING VIEW!

Thanks.

Do I Remind You Of Something You've Lost? 

He continued to sit idly, awestruck with Mimi's words raining onto his being

Because now he remembered

He fucking _**remembered **_

All those times he had not the slightest idea or recollection of occurrence

The countless occasions he ….. Took Advantage of Mark ( Because he was well aware he would being to throw up if he used the real word)

During withdrawal, while high, while grieving. All the times he hadn't, and really shouldn't, remember.

They all came and hit him in the mother fucking face.

Because half those times, it had been against Mark's will. The other half, hadn't been meant. And there they were, back to fucking haunt him.

And maybe, he realized, these were contributing and possibly soul causes of Marks…… problems ( Because he was already feeling nauseas after avoidance of the first word, and still feared he may be sick) Because Mark just couldn't fucking forget.

And suddenly it was as if everything snapped.

Everything came together and fell apart at the same time.

Because now he understood how and why and what. Now that mysterious, empty part was fading into heavy dread and regret before it even got a chance to settle. It was melting into understanding and finally knowing. Finally _seeing ._ Because know he knew what was … right, with lack of a better term, and for once, he was going to be honest with himself. For once, he was going to throw caution to the wind, yet again lacking a better term. For the first time, he was feeling not thinking. And it wasn't for his sake, oh god if it were merely him, or anyone else for that matter, in the equation his fleeting instincts would kick in.

But this was Mark.

"No Mimi" He said, beginning to shake and shatter because the images just wouldn't stop fucking flashing.

Mark begging him to stop, and yet not for his own sake. But for Rogers

Mark arms, absolutely covered in red gashes. Probably only 4 inches, all together, of untouched flesh.

Him and Mark pumping countless times

Countless places

Beds, Piano benches, couches, floors, alleyways

Everyone was staring at him intently, for this was the first time he had spoken

"Its not him that I'm not in love with" Mark's alcoholism, his cutting addiction

His stomach began to lurch dangerously and inevitably as the aforementioned forbidden words were revealed.

The countless times he.. .... Took Advantage of Mark

Rape

"Its you"


	10. Might As Your Heart

You Can't Save The World, Might As Well Save Your Heart

It had been forever, I know. But is it even possible to have a chapter this fucking long? I think I broke some sort of record. I discovered recently the wonders of Spring Awakening. It is now my second favorite musical. But my rents wont bring me to see it for its ' not appropriate' when really, its just the fact they don't want to sit next to me through it. Its on tour at our local theater, with Lea Michele, one of my favorite actresses too. Bastards. Of course, they do think I'm a sweet angel. Really just a good actress. Started learning to Ballroom dance for drama with the beast. My feet are throbbing due to his size 12 shoes stomping on my toes. Hhaha fun. Chapter title is from the workshop Rent song ' on the road'

After writing this I comprehend how difficult it is to even begin to describe human emotion and how it manifests itself. I mean sure, you can describe physical effect to an extent, but you can never truly capture the depths of emotion with mere words. For example, During the beating scene,( corresponding to the bridge of blue wind ; beginning line is - Sure when its autumn) if you simply read it, you wont feel it as much as if you see it. Picture it thoroughly, with large amounts of rage and anger turmoil, pain. It will, hopefully, give you the effect I was striving for. This is one of the millions reasons why I prefer/love the theater.

**IMPORTANT:**

This chapter jumps a lot, for I mentioned them having sex over 30 times, and so far I have given solely the 5 major occurrences ( there will be a more vital examples to come however) and so will provide you with 10 in this chapter, jumping from all different time periods. Songs used are : Blue Wind & I Don't Do Sadness ( Spring Awakening) and an excerpt of the workshop version of Another day

* * *

_What are you looking for?_

_I wish I knew_

_Then what's the use in looking?_

_(Random time, some point before April, when things are good and there semi-new to the city)_

Pure lust; that was the only possible genre it could fall under. Lust and a free spirit, and result of untroubled rebellious times. The desire to try everything new, and to simply give in to his bodies beckoning, because really it was just for the hell of it. And so as he sat at the filthy table, smoke swirling and drifting about his head just as his thoughts, he wasn't really thinking twice, much less allowing questions to force themselves upon his mind. It had a very light load of troubles as it was, and he felt anything but desire to dampen his bliss. For somewhere, his subconscious nagged with the feeling that if he were to consider for the smallest moment, doubt, question, simply come to terms with himself and his whirling thoughts , he would surely be weighted with a tremendous burden he just couldn't bear. And so he simply chose not to think at all, allowing his restless eyes and twining crotch to provide him with the only explanation he found necessary. His eyes traced the familiar out line of the man, his best friend, on stage once more, hunger and dazzling stage lights refracting across his brilliant blue. The man on stage fumbled for a moment, his attention having been stolen by the two dazzling specks of blue in question. He eyed his best friend with equal desire and intension sparking his rough features, playing at the soft ends of his lips and tainting the words of each melody he sang. They required no explanation, an unbelievable lack of words that most didn't comprehend, and were amazingly capable of dismissing their countless acts of lust upon waking up the next morning. Maybe it should mean more, and maybe one or both should have taken a moment to stop. To consider. Maybe the generous amounts of kinky games and senseless fucks should have been permitted to cross either mans mind. Meant something at all.

They didn't

And so Mark wasn't the least bit shocked when he found himself up against the brick wall of a sleazy bar. Roger found his hand in Mark's pants to be a completely plausible and common occurrence. And they made their way back inside the smoky atmosphere hastily, quickly shutting themselves in the back room. The screams were drowned by the blaring music, the fact that these experiences always surpassed all other sexual encounters was immediately dismissed, and when they walked out they began pleasantly talking about Roger's performance as If nothing had happened. Same old, same old.

There was nothing to be found, what was the use of looking?

* * *

_(Age fifteen for Mark, sixteen for Roger, the only time they had sex before the rape scene in chapter one) _

_Spring and Summer ev'ry other day._

"We need to get laid"

"Roger I'm fif -fucking -teen, I'm not really in a huge rush"

"Well I am"

"Fine, but the only chick in our grade that's going to allow you to fuck her will be one of the ugly sluts, and I highly doubt an older girl is gunna screw you"

"Uggg" A silence consisting of pencil scratching over paper. "What if I'm bad?"

"What?" Mark looks up curiously

"Well I mean the first time, I don't wanna suck at it"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Well I don't know, not when you're supposed to be a rising rock star or whatever"

"I'm sure the chick'll be just as unsure and bad as you"

"Mark you gotta promise not to laugh at me" This earned him a baffled look

" Uh, I wont"

"I uh.. I'm kind scared"

"Roger losing ones virginity is pretty fucking scary for everyone, whether they admit it or not.."

" Well no, well I mean yes, I am afraid of that but I wasn't talking about.."

Nervous, tense silence clung to the air for a few moments

"Well? What were you talking about" He's sitting upright now, seated immediately facing Roger who's back was resting upon the bed. He is being gentle, as this was such a rare occurrence he didn't want to scare Roger into retreating

"I just… I" His eyes are searching the room, the walls the floors, his hands and feet fidgeting with discomfort. And Mark couldn't even bring himself to push for the answer, for Roger acting vulnerable, unsure , and sincere was an almost non existent circumstance. " I can't say it uh…well you know I love girls but uh… I uh…" he continues to stuttering and second guessing for quit and extent of time, while Mark endures his self questioning patiently. Finally the guitarist cast his eyes to the floor, his entire head following suit, and he begins mumbling inaudibly

"IthiIlikegutoo"

"What was that Rog? Come on, you don't have to be afraid to tell me anything"

"I think I…ligtoo"

"Hmm?"

A sigh of defeat

"I think.. I think I like guys too"

_Blue wind gets so sad_

He's shaking a little, his nerves having gotten the better of him

The room is graced with an almost surreal silence for a few moments, in which Roger's stomach began to churn.

"Well that's alright" Mark finally says gently , his voice obviously attempting to mask a sort of shock and relief.

"It is?" and Mark almost chocked on his next words, because he simply couldn't believe this was Roger. Allowing himself to stray from his tough guy persona for a few moments. Seeking reassurance from someone else.

"Of course it is. You might not actually even be into them. It could just be a phase, and if not so what? Last I checked, you love someone for them, not their crotch" Ahh, His strictly Jewish homophobic parents would be just so pleased to hear him say that.

Roger was genuinely puzzled "You're completely alright with that? You're not shocked or freaked or-"

"Rog, it doesn't make a difference. Honestly, and at least you're brave enough to admit you might feel that."

"I guess.. I just.. I dunno wish I could find a way to figure out if I was or not and just get it over with. I don't wanna go on like shitting myself and not knowing .."

"Maybe I could help you" The statement was made with such an air of abnormal confidence Roger had to double take to be sure this was Mark

"Wha- I mean how I mean what?"

"Dude I'm your best friend, you done countless good things for me, might as well help you out when you need it. Besides, who else would you have? Our entire town is homophobic, there's no such thing as a gay and or Bi guy around here" Roger was stunned " What? Don't give me that look. Hey If you don't want to that's fine -"

"NO. I mean I want to I guess its just.. "

"Yes?"

"Aren't you straight?"

"As of now, I am"

"Then why - ?"

"You need my help and it would never hurt to try" silence "Well?"

"Yeah, yeah alright"

_Blowing through the thick corn,_

_through the bails of hay._

They each move in slowly pausing a few inches from each others face. Mark, who was greatly enjoying being the dominate one for once, smiled reassuringly before closing the space between them.

That's all it took.

_Through the open books on the grass _

And before either knew what the hell was going on clothes were scattered all over and they were cautiously entering one another.

And once they finished, everything would go back to normal. This would never be mentioned nor would either admit that their first time was with a guy. Roger would return to acting straight as line as if this had never occurred and Mark would return to being semi- timid and straight as a line himself. They'd act as if it hadn't mattered

_Spring and summer _

* * *

(_Amidst Roger and April's relationship, two or three months pre suicide and withdrawal) _

"Damn it" the loft door bangs shut stirring Roger from his writing " fuck fuck fuck fuck"

"Woah Mark, what's with the aneurism ?" The guitarist questions, throwing down his pen and shifting on the couch. Mark starts at the sound of the other mans voice and exhales loudly.

"Oh you're here" Mark comments blandly, rubbing at a scratched and reddening fist.

"Yes, I live here. What's up?"

"Nothing" His voice is monotone and he attempts to shut himself in his room, stopped only by Rogers strong hand gripping his arm firmly

"Hey, c'mon man I'm your best friend, tell me what' s up"

"I said nothing" he trys to push past Roger, but to no avail. The larger man pulls at his wrist harshly ,whirling him around. He then grabs a tight hold of both of the others arms, forcing direct eye contact.

" Mark. What's wrong"

"I said-"

"Mark" he sighs dejectedly

"She fucking broke up with me for a women alright? Can I go now?"

_Your pain I see_

_Your Heart's been burned_

Silence

And now Roger was caught somewhere between laughter, Anger, resentment and sincerity. He manages to choke back the slight amount of humor in the situation and focuses solely on the fact Mark had really loved her. A lot. The bitch

"the bitch"

"Yeah, yeah I know the speech. The 'she's a bitch and you're to good for her anyway you're a great guy blah blah blah' shit. Can I go now?" And Roger's chest twists painfully at Mark's aloof gaze, for he knew Maureen was one of the only people he allowed in. In his walls and himself. He had taken the chance to care about her. She had hurt him. That, when referring to Mark, was quit a feat. Roger was fucking furious, to say that least.

_You're just like me_

"Mark wait just .. Just wait

"Roger no, you cant make it all better just.. just go"

"Mark I wait please Mark" Mark tries to pull away but Roger pulls back sharply

"Roger get the fuck off -"

"Mark wait please I-" And then he leans forward rapidly, pulling Mark into him and colliding lips with lips. He holds firmly to Mark's wrists, who responds for a moments before taking a shaky inhale through his nose.

_Before I learned_

He shoves Roger away almost aggressively as dark lines form on his face. Roger looks at him quizzically for a moment, evidently attempting to mask hurt, before a fist flies into his jaw. He stumbles slightly but, being the larger man, doesn't collapse. Instead he harvers a look of bewilderment and raises a hand to caress his stinging face. Mark is advancing now, blind furry radiating from his eyes as he takes another violent jab, yet misses

_There is no future_

"Don't fuck me up Roger! Don't fucking do it! Kissing me and touching me and fucking me every time something wrong isn't going to keep fucking working! You bastard do you just like fucking with me huh? Fucking with my mind? Taking the easy way out cause that's all you ever fucking do huh?" He's throwing blind punches slaps and kicks now, which Roger simply stands and takes for a few moments " You cant fucking do that to me Roger ! You can't fucking keep fucking making me feel like you care for one night and keep taking it away. You cant solve everything with fucking me damn it! I hate you!" And Rogers finally moves from his idle position, ceasing both of Marks arms tightly and pulling the other man in close. He wraps his arms around Mark's torso, in a manner that leaves Mark's arms bent and trapped between his and Roger's chest while he struggles to get loose.

_There is no past_

He thrashes for a few more moments before giving in. He buries his forehead in Rogers chest briefly, takes a long inhale, and then turns his eyes up. He catches the others gaze with his own for a few moments before lunging forward. His mouths collides with Roger's with a bruising force, causing Roger to falter briefly.

_I live this moment is_

And now its Roger, trying to push Mark off because he knows Mark doesn't really want him or this, Mark doesn't really know what's he's doing he just.. he just hurts. And yet, he simply couldn't bring himself to push Mark away. He tried to will himself, he really did. He simply couldn't. And so he relented, indulging himself in the kiss, attempting to force himself to enjoy this, despite Mark not _meaning _any of it.

The sex was angry and hard and verging on violent. Barely 2 minutes after they finished, Mark wordlessly rose and made his way to his own room.

_My last_

They were well aware of the familiar silence that would riddle their bones when the sun rose.

The silence that always seemed to plague the morning air

* * *

_(A random point before April, during Maureen) _

_Or maybe cool to be a little summer wind _

"MARKKKK! THIS-IS-YOUR MOTHHHERRR! MARKKKKKYYYY ARE YOU THERRRREEEE?"

" Claiirrrreee I fucking hateee youuuuu" Mark mimics sing-song like, shifting from his perch on the kitchen counter. He is eager to reach the phone in hopes of silencing the obnoxious voice, Yet, strangely, pats across the loft with caution, abnormal behavior even providing Roger was still sleeping , for a fucking earth quake couldn't wake him up. He all but creeps to the side of the machine, halting almost violently at the sound of his fathers voice.

"Mark we-"

"Shhhh Dan, let me finish." He relaxes slightly, making the rest of his way to the phone "Now Marky, I know we haven't talked in over 4 years and all, but honey it is time to let by gones be by gones. Today is Easter, it is a holiday of god! Might as well resolve past conflict while celebrating. We all miss you, and hope to see you home for your birthday in a few weeks. I mean you do live in that wretched place , wont you please come home for a little? Please Mark we miss you so very much"

_Like once through everything and then away again _

"Hey, Mark" Mark goes rigid at the sound of his fathers voice, so very rigid one might fear physical injury. And Roger, who had been watching from the sanctity of his room since the message began , peering through a cracked door, felt his own heart begin to pound.

"Mark come home. Your mother misses you very much, as well as I, we want you home and we care about you greatly. We wouldn't want anything happening to you now Mark. Everyone is worried about your condition, and feel remorse in your absence. And I, personally, really do miss our little _talking_" Mark inhales sharply and closes his eyes "session. I'm sure you'll be coming home soon. Wont you Mark? Call us back first chance you get. We'll be waiting"

Click

_With the taste of dust in your mouth all day but no need to know_

Mark exhales atrociously, taking the few steps required to lean his head against the wall. He seems to be shaking to a near violent extent, his cold eyes opening and squeezing tightly shut in intervals of their own accord. Roger chooses this moment to emerge, plastering looks of 'I'm pissy and just woke up' on his face and making a show of B lining directly for the coffee. He halts mid way to his destination, immediately 'noticing' Mark against the wall and asks;

"Mark?" The filmmaker jolts sharply, whirling about as whatever expression had graced his features retreats franticly. Roger catches a glimpse of something reseating in Mark's eyes, yet is unable to identity precisely what before the familiar detached and indifferent cold swallows it. "Mark what was that all about?"

"You scared me!"

"Sorry I-"

"Why'd you have to scare me? Damnit"

" Hey I'm sorry just. What was that all about?"

"What? Oh nothing just feeling a little dizzy for a moment"

" You never could lie to me"

"Hey it was nothing" Mark shrugs and smiles, making his way toward the 'kitchen' in pursuit of the shitty old coffee machine they owned " Just need some coffee is all"

_Like sadness, you just sail away_

"I heard the message Mark" He nearly drops the package of mix in his hands, and takes a few collective moments before responding.

"Yeah well, you know my parents. Annoying and suborn as shit. Still wont fucking give up after 4 years"

"What did he do to you Mark?"

'_Cause you know _

Mark's entire being tenses harshly as he fights to keep calm

"Who, my father? Nothing. what makes you ask?"

"Mark what did he do to you" Roger says this firmly, levelly

"I said nothing" A little sharper now, dry and resembling a match striking a card box.

_I don't do sadness _

"Mark." He takes a tentive step forward " what did he do to you"

Mark slams his hands against the table and exhales for a few moments. Roger stands tensely. Mark turns to Roger, determination gleaming in his eyes, and makes his way to the other man with long strides. Roger is prepared for a punch, yet is surprised when Mark grabs the back of his head brutally and rapidly pulls them together for an impromptu kiss. He shoves Roger and pins him against the counter, not allowing him air or room to protest.

They have hard bruising screaming sex right there, restrained by hips, false steel, marble, and the past. When all is finished and Mark pulls away from a sweating, panting Roger,-amidst and attempt by the rocker to kiss Mark lightly on the lips- his eyes seem to be carrying a certain heftiness they hadn't before. He stands to exit the room, and halts at the doorframe, yet doesn't bother to turn around. He doesn't want to see that face of pity.

"That's what he did to me"

_Not even a little bit_

_Just don't need it in my life _

* * *

_( A few weeks after April's suicide, a few weeks into withdrawal) _

"Let me the fuck out!" Something porcelain smashes beyond a closed door, once more swaying Mark's debate on whether he should retrieve Roger's guitar, rescuing it from his delusional destructive grip, or just let him be. "ALL I NEED IS ONE HIT! LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW MARK!"

_Sure when it's autumn _

Mark no longer even flinches, having grown calloused to Rogers' raging fits of anger. He considered leaving Roger as he was, he himself wouldn't be of much assistance with a broken limb, nor would Roger ever be able to forgive himself for harming Mark. Yet, If Roger were to break his guitar in his excruciated rage, he would deprive himself of his sole purpose of life. Music. And so Mark, despite sensing the danger, was well aware of what he simply had to do. The room is bathed in darkness as he enters slowly, fully expecting the hard contact of anthers body. He is, instead, greeted by a silhouette hunched over the bed sobbing or being sick or simply shaking, he cant make any distinctions in the low light. His first instinct, and over whelming desire, is to run to him. Hold him and attempt to ease his pain. Yet he knows he must save the guitar immediately to prevent further future turmoil. So he grits his teeth, for walking away from that tortured figure is torture in itself, and makes his way to the corner of the room, grabbing at the neck of the guitar.

_Wind always wants to _

"April?" the figure rises searching about for his deceased lover "April?" he obviously isn't lucid, and Mark quickly recognizes the danger of the situation; the metaphoric equivalent to one pulling the pin of a grenade.

"No Rog, it's just Mark. I was just coming in to check on -"

"What the fuck are you doing?" It was a well known fact that April had, as of late, been the only one allowed to touch his fender, the explanation being something vaguely of ' she actually knows how to play it' . Mark was a rare, and occasionally invited, exception to that rule. Yet now, he sensed he was anything but. "Why are you touching that?"

" I just don't want it to get rui-"

"Don't touch that! Who are you? You're not April"

"No Roger, its me, it's Mark""

You're not Mark… he… why are you touching that!? Get the fuck away!"

"Roger-"

"Only April is allowed to touch that! You're not her! You cant fucking replace her" In the dim shadows Mark could just barely make out Rogers features, which were contorted in an odd manner. " you're not her!" he is beginning to yell now, his voice seething with rage.

"No I'm not. I'm -" something shatters against the wall beside him

"YOU'RE NOT APRIL! HOW DARE YOU TRY AND REPLACE HER! YOU ALWAYS HATED HER ALWAYS, YOU LET THEM TAKE HER AWAY!"

_Creep up and haunt you _

He continues to inch slowly toward the door, guitar still grasped firmly in his hand. He knows he should just let it go, drop the damn piece of wood and run. Yet, he can't bring himself to do so.

"Don't say that Roger, don't you say that -" Roger pounces from the side, grabs at his wrists and pulls him forward. His nails dig into Mark's skin and his breath is stale hissing through his clenched teeth and stinging Mark's cheeks.

"It's the fucking truth you queer bag"

_Whistling its got you_

and the real Roger.. God that was the last thing he would ever say. Mark was sure a prejudice against gays had never sincerely passed the others lips before.

"Roger get off of me" His says this firm and collected. He can't afford to lose his temper now, specifically after remaining level headed for the past few weeks.

"Why? I thought you'd like it faggot" He flinches. Roger has always hated the word. He did as well.

"Get. Away."

"Why do you do it ? Why do you act like you care? You don't. You don't want me here. You don't care about me. You hate me. You hated her. I thought you cared damn it. you bastard!" He begins shaking Mark violently, so very violently

"Roger!" The tone of his voice was something one wouldn't be able to explain, even if desired.

"Well I hate you too you son of bitch! You queer. I hate you just as much as you fucking hate me!" Mark pulls away, which in itself takes much of his strength, his jaw is set and his motions almost spastic. Evidence of rage.

" Don't you dare" He advances, despite his right mind telling him to escape at the opportunity, " Call me whatever the fuck you want. Accuse me of being responsible for one of my close friends death. Queer, fag, I don't give a shit. Insult me and hit me and fucking hurt me anyway you can. I don't fucking care." His voice begins to shake and crack, the force of suppressed furry taking its toll " But don't you ever, EVER, fucking dare say I don't care about you"

_With it's heart ache _

Roger leans in close, so close the tips of there noses touch. Yet his infuriated and irrational disposition has not faltered or softened in the least.

"Prove it" he whispers

"Already have"

_With its sorrow_

And before he knows it a fist has landed it self at least fourteen times on varying parts of his face. His jaw has cracked over and over and his eyes are already swelling. His nose is bleeding uncontrollably and feels crooked and.. Just off. His cheeks bones are bruised and puffing and his glasses had long been shed. Small cuts bled from all over his cheeks lips and forehead. And that was merely from feeling the damage, he couldn't imagine what observation of his face would bring. And yet it wasn't over. Now a dresser drawer had been pulled and was being swung at his lower body. Punches thrown to his gut had already sent him to the ground, as well as his head being banged repetitively against he wall. The dresser landed on his leg, his shoulder , his arm, his side. When the other no longer finds satisfaction in this, he begins kicking. Kicking at his ribs, his stomach, his face even. He a found a long piece of something bat shaped, -yet not quite as damaging or hard,- he cant even fathom what it could be, being driven against any part of his body it could find. An unmistakable crack sounds from Mark' arm, and he is well aware they wont be able to pay a doctor bill. The other continues obliviously, hitting him repetitively with all his mustered strength. And all the while he's yelling and screaming and the other is sobbing and - still not nearly lucid- rambling.

Finally the merciless beating ceases, and he finds himself sitting in silence for a few moments before a rope is tied far too tightly around his wrists.

_Winter wind sings _

Knees straddle his hips and he doesn't even posses the physical capability to fight back any longer. He is entered bluntly and painfully, fucked with the intension of hurting both of them.

The guitar, fully intact, resides beside the door frame.

_And it cries _

* * *

_( Middle/ late part of Roger and April 2 months pre suicide) _

" I think April's jealous of you"

"What?" Mark's attentive eyes peer up from his work of cutting film, he appears truly stunned and at a loss.

" April is jealous of you" he keeps his eyes glued to the fender, his voice monotone. Either he truly was indifferent , or desperately attempting to appear so. Collins, who had wandered off to bed hours ago, but had been lying in the dark since, guessed the later

"What do you mean.. jealous? Why? Of what?" Roger sighs. He regrets bringing this up. He really doesn't want to say it

" Me and you and our … relationship" Mark looks at him quizzically " Mark we're a lot more touchy feely, display subtle and not to subtle affection, go to each other first over anyone, etcetera then most guys that are best friends. " Mark appears as if he has no idea how to respond " In fact, we're a lot closer than most people, male or female, ever are" Mark remains unresponsive, which sends Roger into a momentary panic " at least, that's what she said" he saves himself, although it wasn't entirely untrue.

_There's only us_

"How'd you get her to - "

"She got piss ass drunk. Totally plastered , hammered, whatever you wanna call it. She's a chatty drunk, not unlike yourself Marky." A pathetic, yet not entirely unsuccessful, attempt at lightening the mood "I was on stage while this process was occurring, so I myself didn't have the opportunity to do the same. She had an audition the next day, so I insisted on bringing her home early. I asked her what inspired her to get so fucking baked when she had an audition in the morning. She spilled about feeling inferior to you and shit" He chocked on the last part. Her 'spilling' was more along the lines of ' Sometimes I think you love him more than me, and I know you really care about him Rog more than you ever for me. Sometimes I think you really are in love with HIM. And its not because you always choose him over me or anything, actually you've ditched him for me on numerous occasions. it's the little things and the big things. The other things. Like when you got the call your brother died. You refused to speak to anyone, leave or allow anyone in your room including me, after hours of begging, and then Mark simply knocks on your door and you let him in. And you two are in there for hours.. And there's so many other things I can't even count Roger. You just-' etc etc., yet not as tactfully or properly worded, for she was, infact, plastered.

"Oh.. Well did you tell her she has nothing to worry about?"

"I haven't gotten a chance to talk to her yet. She went to bed right when we got home, and she left early for the audition. She wont be back till later." Roger's right eye twitches slightly. That what happens when he lies. Mark reasons it was probably a coincidence.

"Oh" Collins cant decided between being amused or sincere. Either way, this certainly was intriguing. Specifically the fact Roger would be blatantly lying when telling April there's nothing to worry about.

_There's only this_

"Mark?"

"Mhmm?"

"Uhh.." he begins fidgeting with is fingers. Now or never he decides. Mark tenses " uhh well uhm.. Earlier today I was looking in your room for a new notebook cause mine was full and I know you have a few for screenplays and.. So I went in your bedside table" Mark cringes "and uh when I looked in it…." He in hails shakily " I found a shit load of alcohol bottles. Scotch and vodka mostly and I mean shit load like.. I don't think bars use that many in two weeks. And there was only a few full ones and some were half full and… I mean.. what…?" He allows the gaze they share to finish the question.

And Mark, well he began to panic. Freak out. No one could know. Specifically Roger. Roger couldn't know. No one could know. They just couldn't. It would break everything. The façade he so skillfully held up. The front they were all used to. Preferred. For a man of actual reality he sure did depend on fakeness and fantasy. He would be made to talk. He couldn't do that. They would force him to talk, to fess up, they would find out of his entire past. They would force him to feel. And so began panicking, unable to formulate pretty lies on the spot as he once could, likely a toll of the massive amounts of alcohol in question. He is verging on desperate because if they find out he would surely hate himself more. And he didn't dare face the result of that. He didn't want the pity or the shame, he didn't want to admit he had a problem. That there was something he needed to drink away. He fucking couldn't. So When a few more moments went by and he still couldn't respond, still couldn't fucking lie - Possibly his subconscious was tired of hiding- he felt a desperation he hadn't been forced to endure since his adolescence in Scarsdale. And so he looked back up, met the eyes of what he constantly tried to drink away,

and fell.

_Forget regret _

Fell into his arms, onto his lap, into his own bitterness and weakness.

And grabbed at his lips will all his desperation.

And when his tongue was firmly down Rogers throat, Rogers hands tangled surely in his hair

He almost felt guilty, not a familiarity to him, for he had been forced to extinguish that emotion long ago.

_Or life is yours to miss _

But they couldn't know

_No other road_

Roger just couldn't know

_No other way_

They ventured into the bathroom, and were as silent as possible, so not to wake Collins.

They couldn't know

_No day but today_

Rogers didn't ask again

Not when he didn't even know.

* * *

_( Age 18 for Roger, who got held back, age 17 for Mark) _

Mark departs from the window and descends down the stairs smiling. He pauses in the living room to be sure his parents have truly left for the weekend, performs his familiar check of screaming ' FUCK!' and when no response comes, bounds the rest of the way to the front door. He fumbles with the lock for a few moments before swinging the door open

"Hey baby" His smile falters immediately.

_Just don't need in my life _

Before him stands Roger, his hair soaked with sweat and his lips covered in blood. His left eyes is swollen nearly shut and cuts on his cheeks and busted lip are bleeding profusely. His sleeve is soaked in it as well, and the stain seems to be growing, just as the swelling occurring about his face. Ugly colors of purple are blooming as well, and Mark's breath is taken for a few moment. "The bastard" barely a whisper, for he can't bring himself to say much more. He desires to touch the wounds on the guitarists cheeks, but refrains from doing so, in fear of causing further pain. He instead opens the front door further, allowing Roger in and closing it behind him. "Why?" The asshole broke my brand new fucking amp too. I paid for that shit, the old one barely fucking works" Mark hurries about, seating Roger onto his families clean beige furniture, (his mother would have a conniption at the knowledge) and gathering what he assumed could be of assistance.; Cloths, towels, a first aid kit etc. He returns to Roger hastily, sitting beside him with the supplies, and begins examining the damage. And he can tell how much Roger hates this, because he has so much fucking pride he can't even swallow it. Its all he has at times, and if Mark hadn't been expectant of his arrival, the guitarist most likely would not have gone seeking assistance anywhere at all, in fear of being pitied. They both hated pity. Mark now wishes he had paid more attention in Health class, for he not only is at a complete loss as to how Roger's injuries should be treated, yet was completely unaware how this should be approached. He examines Roger's face once more, and feels a certain constriction in his throat. He reaches forward and gently brushes his fingers over a purple cheek bone, dragging them slightly down his jaw, and allow it to fall again.

"Why?"

_Don't want any part of it_

A sigh

"He just felt like it tonight. Ran outta vodka, didn't have enough money to get more until Wal-Mart paid him on Friday. It was, of course, my fault in some fucking way" Mark feared it wasn't healthy to despise someone to the extent he hated Roger's father. Roger isn't shaken, isn't upset. He is indifferent and cold. Resentful. Spiteful. But not wavering in the least. Mark cringes at the feasibility he could be calloused to such beatings.

"I hate him"

_I don't do sadness _

Mark says it mildly, before picking a wash clothe soaked in warm water . He wrings it out carefully, as he's seen his mother do, and moves forward ( awkwardly, for he himself is a man handler. Rough and not gentle in the least) and dabs at the bleeding cuts on Roger's cheeks and forehead. The other flinches but doesn't move. Mark senses the others tension.

"I know you hate this Roger but this isn't an insult to your pride or masculinity. It's merely being reasonable" the guitarist doesn't respond, so Mark continues with his work. He cleans all open wounds on the face, and disinfects them. He applies bandages to larger ones, and gauze to a more sever one. He then reaches for Roger's arm, noticing the greater amounts of blood. Yet Roger pulls away. Mark gives him a look and reaches forward once more, yet more gently. Roger relents and allows him to look. Two long jagged markings run the length of the under and top sides of his arm, they are bleeding profusely and seem to have been made amidst a struggle.

"Roger what-"

" His pocket knife" Mark searches his eyes as he says this, and finding Roger's right eyes doesn't twitch unusually, he begins cleaning the wound as gingerly as his rough clumsy ways can manage. He feels as if he may throw up.

_Hey, well I've done my time, looking back on it all_

When the entire arm is wrapped in gauze, and all excess blood is cleaned from the rest of the others body, Mark sighs morbidly, still attempting to calm his nauseated stomach. His eye catching - self inflicted he was sure- round cigarette burns dotting Roger's pale skin, seems to defeat the purpose, for his stomach lurches once more. They sit in silence for a few moments ( quit unusual in the specific relationship)

"The only thing I could think… I thought he was going to kill me. We were nearing the stairs, and he was grabbing for the lamp near by. I honestly believed I was about to die, and all I could think…" He inhales " All I could think was.. Mark's going to be heart broken." he laughs dejectedly, bitterly " I'm going to miss Mark so fucking much"

_Yeah it blows my mind _

Mark's face remains blank for a few moments

" I really do love you Rog"

"Love you too babe"

_Don't do sadness _

Later, when they have decided to turn in early, and are lying in bed together, Roger begins to shake a little, his body being accustom to releasing all pent up emotion nightly, while securely in his own bed.. He tries with all his might to suppress it, but Mark pulls him closer and strokes his hair, his back. Anything to calm him.

_So been there, don't do sadness _

"Mark, why don't we do what we were planning for tonight?"

"Roger, you've just showed at my door like this, and you want to do it?"

"C'mon baby. I just.. I wanna show you how much…" His fingers trail down to the front of Mark's pajama pants, grabbing him just as he knew Mark couldn't resist.

No further protest was heard from the other

" Its been like 4 months now. It's still so fucking weird to think we're together at all, much less that long" Roger comments later, before they are both lolled off. Mark pulls him closer.

" I wouldn't only have been heartbroken" Mark whispers what seems irrelevantly to Roger "If I were to ever lose you.. I'd die"

_Just don't care_

* * *

_( Pre meeting April) _

_Your angers real_

"Oh Roger" He was at it again. Another random groupie, another high off his ass Roger, keeping Mark awake at night. It seems as if Roger constantly had sex and got high lately, and a plausible reason was not anywhere to be found. He specifically insisted on this after every single show, without fail. This left Mark, and others, wondering on their friends behave, for what could drive him to such behavior? Sure ,he had been known for plenty of one night stands before, and often tried new and different drugs, but this was extreme, even for him. Maybe he was trying to drive something away.

_But just beware _

Maybe he was scared, or trying to prove a point. And maybe it was the possibility he just felt too fucking much, because when Roger performed it was, obviously, music he was performing. And music just had a fucking way of making you feel beyond your capability. It easily opens scars you didn't even know you fucking had, and makes them hurt so bad. Because It can, and always does, go places that don't even exist. It makes the numb feel. The indifferent bleed. And when its cutting you open, exposing you, hurting you.. You don't want it to stop. It brings such an overbearing over whelming agony, that its.. Beautiful. Joyous. And yet, when its over the stinging just seems to…. linger. To grip you. Pull you under. And so one finds a way to escape. To exhaust some of the burning in their chest, that heaviness behind their eyes. Just until its bearable. The drugs were his escape, the sex his exhaust. Maybe that's why Mark didn't show up at shows anymore. Never turned on a radio, and ran out to film the second Roger popped in a CD or pulled out his guitar. He didn't think he could handle it.

_It's a waste to feel _

"Oh oh .. Oh god!" Mark cringes. Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut -

"OH.. OH" he throws his pillow against the wall and rises out of bed, He trots to the bathroom and closes the door tightly.

"Uhhhh" that one was defiantly Roger. Feeling nauseated, Mark leans heavily on the wall, allowing his glasses to clatter against the floor's tile. He attempts to compose himself, rubbing at his eyes and beginning to inch his way to a proper standing position.

He finds his front compressed against the front of the toilet bowl moments later, and prays to the god he doesn't believe in that no on hears him, although he doubts that's possible over Roger's attempt at an emotional release in the next room.

No one ever tries and listen anyway.

_That fait's unfair _

When the nearly non existent contents of his stomach had been expelled completely, he relents against the cold ground, sprawling out and heaving with the effort of suppression.

It's an art really, suppression. It must be mastered. Practiced. Made flawless.

"OH.. OH ROGER OH -" He kicks at the side of the bathtub.

"Ah" when Roger's raspy voice joins in, he feels as if he might go insane.

And suddenly he looks down, and his hand is at work on his own shaft, although he couldn't quit recollect when this had begun, and the tortures screaming is adding him in release.

Suppression is an art.

_There's no such thing _

He pumps faster when Roger lets out another low moan

_As tragedy _

One must not only learn to dismiss, to diminish to lie to themselves.

His breathing becomes heavy, and he is now thankful for the distraction of the others encounter

But must learn to release in ways that allow them to remain numb

_I can't resent what's meant _

And then he's climaxing, and isn't able to bite back the yelp of " ROGER!", panicking immediately at the realization he could have just given everything away. He listens closely, and it seems as if the couple had climaxed in unison with him, a tremendous occurrence of luck that seems surreal, for Mark never had luck.

What he missed, however, was Roger's climax, drowned out beneath his own.

Such luck he thought, that the others had been loud enough they hadn't heard

What he hadn't heard

Such luck that they had drowned one another out

Was Roger's screams at his own climax. Screams that could have saved a shit load of heart ache

Such luck

Roger's screams of "Mark"

_To be_

* * *

_(one month pre RENT)_

_Spring and Summer _

"What the fuck." Its more of a statement than a question really, sounding bland and course. Roger blinks a few times, the voice having startled him in his attempts to make it to bed without waking Mark that, evidently, hadn't worked. For there Mark stood, he had now risen from his position on the couch, looking as if he had been awake for days straight, his face cold and hard and blank. Roger sets his guitar by the door frame, feeling as if he shouldn't move, for reasons beyond his comprehension, and meets Mark's eyes expectantly. The other man appears to be caught somewhere between livid and uncaring, and Roger's heart immediately drops into his stomach.

"What the_ fuck _is this" He is blunt for once, and pulls a packet of powder and a dirtied needle from the table beside him. Roger swallows hard

"Mark I -" he attempts to advance

"Sit down" Firm and strict. The way a teacher or infuriated authority figure would instruct you.

"Mark-"

"I said" He intervenes slowly and cooly, yet his teeth are grit " sit the _fuck _down"

Roger complies unsteadily. He doesn't know what this is, how to do this. He has no idea what could possibly describe or calm whatever the hell Mark felt right then. He doubted there was an answer for either.

_Every other day _

"What the fuck" He says it calmly, quietly, almost softly to himself." What . The . Fuck." A little stronger this time " WHAT THE FUCK" he screams now, throws the needle against the wood, allowing it to shatter. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhales and exhales slowly.

When he opens them again, he directs his gaze immediately to Roger "Why?" He says this plainly and with a heavy lightness. He laughs a little as he says it, and this progresses into a fit of hysterical laughter. He chuckles into his lap for a few moments before brining his head up once more and eyeing Roger " Well?" He smiles saying this as well, but it melts away almost immediately, replaced with a look of pure loathing. Roger feared the other had gone insane, and averts his eyes to the floor

" I.. it was an accident. I just… I just… I wanted to get away from.." He raises his head slightly, meeting Mark's eyes, before returning his own to the ground " and I just couldn't handle.. And the next thing I knew there was a needle in my arm.. And" He inhales as if he were about to say more, but it falls flat and he releases an audible, desperate sigh.

"And accident" his voice is seething with rage, hot fire, and hatred, cold ice. He scoffs " a fucking accident. I'm not even going to begin to evaluate on that. We both know how fucking stupid that sounds. But on the other hand, you are pretty fucking stupid aren't you?" He is slowly approaching Roger's terrified being. Roger, terrified of Mark. That was a new occurrence. It was almost humorous.

"Mark I.. I just couldn't deal with it I just.." He trails off unsure of what to say. Mark begins to laugh again and throws his hands up in the air, spins around to face the opposite wall, and proceeds to pace towards it.

"you couldn't handle it huh Rog? You couldn't fucking _handle _it." He turns to face the other again " Handle what? The fact that things were actually going alright ? The fact that you just started getting gigs again and stopped having nightmares about April? The fact that I mother fucking got you fucking clean? Huh? You just couldn't fucking stand the idea of being fucking clean? You could stand the fucking idea of not dieing faster than you had to?" he slams his hands on the metal table, and Roger winces, preparing to be punched and hit "How the fuck could you do this? Nearly a half of a years withdrawal Roger! A fucking half! I thought you were going to fucking die half of that time. But we did it, endured five endless fucking months of fucking withdrawal. So you decide to go and get your ass fucking hooked back on fucking smack!" He kicks the legs of the table with each word of the last sentence. He's yelling now, screaming at the top of his lungs. " You mother fucking son of a bitch! You son of a bitching bastard! Who the _fuck _do you think you are anyway? You think you have an excuse to do this to yourself? To me? You think you're some poor tortured soul who needs and escape? That's fucking bullshit. You're just some little shit who has no idea what the fuck he wants. Who gets bored. And so he needs to make his own fucking tragedy, because he can't fucking find a reason for the way he feels. You're just a cowardly son of a bitch who wishes he was fucking worth something. You're already fucking dieing Roger! You're already fucking dieing and leaving, and you seem to want it to come faster. You want to fucking leave me faster. You cant do that Roger" His voice seems to erupt him the raw part far in the back of his throat. Its gut wrenching " YOU CANT FUCKING DO THAT"

_Blue wind gets so pained _

His arms thrash about in the air " and if you think for a second, for a mother fucking little fucking second that we are going to do this shit again, you are so fucking wrong. So wrong I almost feel bad for you. I almost feel bad for you Roger. You ignorant useless junkie son of a bitch" He throws the water glass that had formally rested upon the table at the wall. " So Roger" He fixes a cold stare on the other man "What exactly was so bad you couldn't handle? What were you running from?" Roger doesn't answer, and instead stares at Mark pleadingly " Huh what was it?" He demands, stepping forward slightly. No answer. He gets angry "WHAT ROGER?" He throws the white packet at Roger, hitting him squarely in the face " WHAT THE FUCK WAS IT?" No response. Mark crosses the room.

_Blowing through the thick corn, through the bails of hay _

He leans forward across the signature metal table, bracing himself with his arms. He leans right into Roger's face, breathing heavily and through clenched teeth "what the fuck were you hiding from?" No response still. He slaps Roger across the face " Huh what was it?" silence. He slaps Roger harder. Silence. "What" slap " The" slap " fuck" slap "was" slap " it?" smack. He grabs the front of Roger's shirt and shakes him " Answer me you bastard. You at least owe me that much" When Roger just looks at him blankly, almost with pity, Mark punches him. He then begins to punch and slap and assault Roger however he can, because maybe it would make him hurt as much as he was. Roger grabs at his wrists, and stops him. A moment passes and they remain as they are, Mark's wrists gripped in Rogers hands, their faces inches apart, and eyes searching. Then Mark pulls away and wraps one fist in the front of Roger's shirt, bringing the other to the back of his head and pulling him close.

"What the fuck where you hiding from?"

Roger inhales, and his voice quivers as if he is about to cry

" You"

And then Roger pulls him forward and there lips are in contact, hot and needy and angry.

Mark pulls away

"No, no get the fuck off of me" He pushes Roger away "I don't fucking.. I cant.. I don't feel that way about you Roger! I'm fucking straight! Stay away from me you sick bastard!" He turns to run and yet is stopped by a strong arm wrapping around his waist, and slamming him against the table.

"Yes you do"

"You're such a fucking bastard, get the fuck off of me. You fucking junkie scum"

"Well you're an alcoholic"

_Through the sudden drift of the rain _

Silence.

And then there at it, both changing their minds throughout, pushing the other away and then pulling them close again. Yelling words of hatred and of lust. And in the end, when both are bruised and panting and raging with anger, Mark pulls away suddenly and pushes Roger

"I hate you" Roger stands up and pushes the other harder, causing him to stumble and fall over the couch

"I hate you too bastard" The door slams.

_Spring and summer _


	11. Love Is Not A Victory March, It's Cold

**A/n: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen is the most EPIC SONG EVER. Queen is (one of) the most epic bands ever!**

I'm one of those weird kids that walks down the hallway singing/ humming to myself. I love being fucking weird. Title/ a few lyrics are from the AMAZING song Hallelujah.

It's been forever, but Belle here only has two weeks till opening night, and we're getting our mics ( I get a head mic, which should prove interesting, as well as Beast & I ballroom dancing in my HUGE ASS dress, which I have to change in and out of twice in the matter of about 1 minute possibly 2)

**I am gunna thank ShadowWolfDagger who reviews EVERY chapter! Thank you so much! And I would also like to thank, amongst all my other reviewers cause you guys rock, EB91, who left me a long ass review ( I'm like about to name my kid after them!) and brought something to my attention. **They were right, I said when they were 15/16 it was the last time they would have sex till the beginning of the story at the mugging scene, but then they did it again at 17/18. So yeah, I fucked up. I mean the last time they did it before the first scene was the 17/18 one. Yeah

Yeah so…. Yeah. Long ass author note, as per usual.

This entire chapter was written in the margins of school notes/ packets.

Love Is Not A Victory March, It's A Cold & It's A Broken 

They knew when not to disturb him.

The moment one of his 'moods' , as they were commonly known, became apparent they all knew not to provoke him. And at those times, acts as common place and simple as an attempt to converse could be, and were, considered provoking. Roger was known to be moody, brooding and ill tempered, when he wasn't being immature, Irresponsible, reckless, child like, and what he described as fun.

Typical musician they said

They could easily tolerate this

Yet, when one of his truly foul dispositions began to rear its head, they all knew to hastily retreat. No one was to acknowledge him without being addressed first and he was to be isolated and unburdened. Not one bothered or dared to confront him, for it would be in violation of a rigid, silent rule. You simply didn't speak to Roger when he was in such a mood.

Unless you were Mark.

Mark was, as with most other rules in the ' families' relationships, an exception.

The only exception.

Mark, infact, seemed nearly unaffected on the occasion the other decided to turn sour, his only significant acknowledgment being one of transitioning, temporarily, into ginger yet firm persona.

The only conversation, which was held was strictly behind closed door, Roger would tolerate, despite waning others away throughout the day, was from that of Mark only Mark.

This, of course, amongst nearly countless other things, upset/disturbed girlfriends and acquaintances of all variation, but soon came to be accepted by all, amongst many other daunting and unsettling aspects of their… unconventional friendship.

And so, on that specific Wednesday in mid July when Roger decided to storm home in one of those aforementioned moods, the company ( consisting of Joanne, Collins, Maureen, Mimi and Angel) knew to leave him be.

Mimi, however, who was still slightly dissimilar to the group and their customs, began to call this reoccurring circumstance into question. She was, after all, the love of his life, his muse, his love, his everything, so she should easily be capable of curing this rottenness he had been frequently been coming home in. Right?

The group didn't bother to warn or discourage her as she made her way to his door, uneven and teetering from being slammed so many times, for they knew she would learn on her own, just as they all had.

"Baby?" Her eyes wonder about the dark room, Silence is the only response. She stalks in slightly further, stopping every few moments, for the air held such an… eerie presence, her nerves were on end. "Rog baby, where are you? Whats up?" her eye caches a disturbance adjacent to the closet door "Babe?" She creeps toward the corner of the room, and jumps back hastily as the figure whirls around

" Mimi? What the fuck, why are you in here?""I just wanted to see if you were alright..?""Well why the fuck wouldn't I be? Jesus fucking christ cant I get like 5 fucking seconds alone?"

"Well sorry asshole, I wanted to see why you've storming home in these pissy 'Fuck - Off' moods for the past like month and a half"

"Oh fuck off"

And a screaming match ensued. The group, calloused to such occurrences, continued to laze about in the main room, chatting nonchalantly, and, eventually, wondering as to Mark's absence. As if on que, the heavy loft door slid open and reveled Mark, whom looked thoroughly exhausted, his eyes blood shot and sporting bags, his face (and body for that matter) appearing considerably gaunt, and over heated wearing a thick, long sweater and jeans amidst the sweltering July heat. He dropped his equipment heavily on the shabby wooden floors, and brought his rough palm up to the side of his neck, massage at it in an attempt at slight relief from the permanate kink that had stubbornly formed ages ago. His eyes shut and he pushes his back to the wall, sinking to the ground and allowing a dejected, defeated sigh to hiss out. His head lulls back, eyes remaining firmly closed, to rest upon the wall and his knees draw in, his head surrendering and falling into his hands.

"Hey Marky boy" His neck snaps up and he hastily scrambles to his feet.

"Oh hey guys" He smiles uneasily "didn't know you were here.." Sensing how fake it is, he drops it all together and hopes his troubled appearance doesn't arouse questions-

"Mark, what's up with you lately, ya look like shit"

Well… Fuck

"Nothing, I just think I'm developing some case of insomnia or something. Haven't been able to sleep. I'll be fine though." He rubs at his eyes before turning back to the group

"What's with the screaming?" He waves a hand absently at Roger's door

" Oh you mean Mr. Fuck- Off, and Juliet in there? I dunno, he's been pissy lately, he was in one of his moods today and she just insisted on bugging him" Maureen shrugs " Should stop soon" Mark sighs and collapses onto the torn cushions beside Maureen, rubbing in vain, once more, at the side of his neck.

"You still have that kink in your neck babe?" Maureen chirps, leaning over to examine Mark's discomfort. " Here c'mon lemme help" She reaches forward gingerly and touches at his sore skin. When he doesn't flinch away, and no protest is erected from Joanne, she proceeds, massaging the surface of his skin tenderly

"So how does the filmmaking go my dear boy?" Collins lights a smoke and takes a long drag,

"Oh you know" Mark racks his brain franticly " Pretty well I guess. Manhattan is specifically fascinating this time of year, it's kinda entreating to watch clueless tourists being harassed by us city dwellers" he smiles tiredly "and watch them squirm at all the gay couples and the homeless" Collins laughs and retorts something about loving to drag Angel to similar areas on occasion, and watch her cause massive amounts of discomfort. Angel steals the smoke from her lovers grasp, takes a drag, and suggests Mark join them and film next time. He agrees eagerly.

"Jesus christ Mark" Maureen pipes in eventually, working harder at his neck " this is one huge ass kink, where the fuck did it come from?" her fingers slip and catch the edge of his sweater, pulling it down his shoulder momentarily

And that's when they catch a glimpse

The pink and red hickeys

the purple and blue bruises

They fall silent for a few moments

" Mark what the -"

"THERE YOU ARE!" Roger comes bursting into the room, Mimi hot on his heels

"Don't you drag him into-"

"Shut the fuck up Mimi this isn't about you anymore!" He snaps. She promply closes her mouth, for he has never actually snapped at her like this before. He glares at her a moment more before turning back to the silent group before him

" Mark where the fuck have you been going every night?" This is random, seemingly irrelevant and out of blue to the others, yet Mark, knowing better, begins to fidget.

" Huh? Well fucking answer me? I really thought you were going filming at first.. But guess fucking what? I found your hiding place for your camera. You've left it every time. I've been staying awake, I hear you sneaking in at like 4:00 in the fucking morning. Where have you been going? Look at you! You look like shit!" He looks a bit wild at this point, flailing about and screaming. He's breathing heavily, clenching his fists, forcing eyes contact. Mark stares wide eyed at him for a beat

"I- I" he stumbles for a moment " I've been bartending. At that sleezy club a few blocks away, across from Henmen's" Mark confesses, rubbing at the back of his neck roughly "Its pretty shitty and I just.. Didn't think you'd like me working there.. But we needed money so…" he trails off, finally casting his wondering eyes to Roger's. The musician stiffens for a moment

"You're lieing"

"Fuck you Roger, I am not. How would you even fucking know?"

" You did the thing. When the left corner of your mouth twirks that tiny bit. And your right eyebrow flinches" Mark's brow furrows as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth

"I'm not lieing. Why the fuck is it your business anyway? I'm a big fucking boy, as you've said to me so many times, I can take care of myself. You're not my keeper you don't need to know where I'm going constantly" He ups to leave and the group simply sits rigidly, for they had nearly never seen Mark lose his temper. Once, possibly twice before. And although he was keeping pretty well contained now, his anger was evident.

"Like I'm going to listen and leave you alone because you're telling me to fuck off. Remember how that worked out last time? Me getting addicted to smack" Mark pauses on his journey to the door. His fists clench, and he doesn't bother turning around.

"Well I'm not that fucking stupid am I?"

"Well you are an alco-"

"**Shut the fuck up!" **he turns abruptly. Everyone else flinches "I am fucking not! Don't you get that you fuckwad? Don't you dare accuse me of that again. We've gone over this. Just don't you fucking go there. Jesus Christ you're such a fucking ignorant bastard sometimes, I can't even stand to be around you right now" He turns and begins taking quick strides toward the door. The group cast all eyes back to Roger, whom looks to be debating somewhere between pleading and angry. They were alphabet city, it was 2 a.m. ish and Mark was .. Mark. Only god knows what could happen. where he would head. He was already self destructive.

He would head to a bar

The thought occurred spontaneously and sharply

and he was fighting to swallow his pride.

He would go to bar

The thought churned Roger's stomache

And though he didn't know if he could do, if he could force himself…

But The thought was terrifying…

He would to a bar

It was enough

"Wait" He cries, reaching forward. The group is all furrowed eyebrows and baited breaths.

"Mark wait!" He runs forward and grabs at Mark's arm, spinning him around.

This was a phenomena

This was impossible

Non of them could believe it

They couldn't actually be witnessing this

Roger Willingly..

Roger of his own accord..

Roger

_**Apologizing **_

" I.. I'm…. please don't go… I'm.. I was being stupid I just.. .shit.. I worry so much and you scared the shit outta me and… A bar Mark? You shouldn't be working there.. I mean.. just.. Fuck.. I mean… when you wouldn't come home… I haven't been able to..... For the past month.. You… I… I know I.. its just… and what happened in the past… and…. I.. fuck don't go. Please. I'm sorry"

They were completely, totally, and utterly awestruck.

Roger did not, under any circumstance, apologize. Ever. No one, despite feverish and countless attempts, had ever been capable of accomplishing this feat. His pride was far too great , he held stealthy to his firm ideas of dignity, and refused to ever cave. He was a stubborn fuck. And yet there it was, plain as fucking day.

And Mark just fucking sat there! He was completely unphased… well to an extent anyway. He sighs heavily

" Yeah… yeah alright. I am too. I'll start a new job search soon… and you know" He smiles weakly

"Can we uh.. Talk in the other room for a sec?" He motions to his door and Mark nods, issuing an apologetic look to the others. Collins nods and smiles, and affirmation that it was 'all good', and encouragement to go ahead. The rest sit dumbly with their jaws hanging. "So last night-" Roger's gravely voice drifts about the vast emptiness of the loft, before a resounding click echoes, and they are left staring blankly at a door

Silence

"Woah"

silence

"What. The . Fuck" The foul language from Joanne is foreign, but circumstantially fitting non the less. "What the fuck was-"

"Collins" Maureen intervenes suddenly, appearing to have recovered quickly, " You owe me 20 bucks"

"Nuh - uh Maureen" Collins manages, a smile pulling at his lips " the ignorance level is still too great. No revelation has been reached, therefore I owe you nothing" Maureen opens her mouth to protest, but unable to find a reasonable argument, leans grudgingly back in her seat

" You owe me ten though Colly" Angel laughs from her position sprawled about the couch, seemingly enjoying the conversation " And Maureen owes me five"

"Did Roger just... Apologize?" they turn back to Joanne, finding that the lawyer is still sitting indolently and at a loss

Collins and Maureen laugh while Angel smiles at her

"It's Mark sugar, if he's going to apologize to anyone it would be Mark" She laughs a little more, before turning her eyes to meet that of her best friend's.

Her smile wavers

Mimi is standing near the wall, motionless,

a revelent, resentful, pained.…

petrified

look gracing her beautiful features.

Because she fucking _gets_ it now

She turns and leaves the loft

Running.

(A/n: Yes, I made up the word revelent. )

* * *

Rarities.

They can be beautiful, they can be surreal

They can be earth shattering

They can be terrifying

Mark slams the door and throws his coat off, disregarding the early (late?) hour, because anyone who was sleeping can kiss his ass anyway. He stumbles, only half lucid, across the loft's main area with the intent of making it to his room, but makes it only half way there, before collapsing on the ground a few feet from the couch. He groans and attempts to roll over, but the fresh sores forming about his chest send him sprawling onto his back once more. He blinks, attempting to steady his swimming vision, and really hopes that's not blood on the back of his pants, because this one had been abnormally large and he didn't have money for a good wash, or new jeans. He considers remaining on the floor for the duration of the rest of his short night, but the thought dawns on him that Roger was sure to awaken before him, and all hell would break loose if he were to be caught in this state. So he, slowly, rises to his feet, stumbling yet managing his balance and making his way towards his bedroom

"Mark?" He curses softly and turns to find Mimi, looking oddly innocent, standing in the doorway, with a robe wrapped tightly around her " Mark, what're you doing?" She mumbles, rubbing sleepily at her eyes

"Nothing Mimi" He replies sharply. She jumps " Just go back to sleep" her brow immediately furrows. Mark had never, ever, been curt or rude to her before, under any circumstance. He was actually the opposite, protective and loving. Brotherly. Never had he lost patients with her, or anyone for that matter, and never had she ever witnessed him in a bad mood. Not Once. And yet there he was, the image of Mr.' Fuck Off' Himself standing before her. She falters for a moment

"Mark are you alright you look-"

" Mimi I said go back to fucking sleep, I am fine" she opens her mouth to protest once more, but quickly decides against it and retreats, because she honestly is afraid. Terrified even. Not of Mark really, as he was.. Well Mark. But of his behavior. She found the extreme rarity of him being anything but passive aggressive and calm to be a terrifying one, for it was as if the world ceased making sense. And the last thing she ever wanted was to be yelled at by Mark. Snapped at. The thought scared her. So she shrunk back into her and Roger's room, only to be brushed aside moments later

"Mark!" Roger barrels his way into the main room, temper already irritated despite him just having woken up. Mimi cringes further back into their room. She doesn't want to see this .

"What the fuck!? Where the hell have you been? You have a day time job now, remember ? Where the hell'd you disappears to now?" Mark, whom usually sits and takes Roger's tantrums, who usually just remains still and emotionless and allows Roger to rant in his face for 10 minutes straight, looks pissed. Fucking pissed. His knuckles clenched to the point his skin has turned white. Mimi hides behind the door frame. " Where the fuck do you keep going? It's obviously not working at Henmen's like you said you used to. Don't you get the fact that I'm sitting here like an asshole wondering where you are? That you're going to get mugged or shot, out there alone being as you are? Do you want it to happen again Mark? Do you? Because when you don't come home I still have fucking nightmares about it. Do you really want it to happen again? Do you realize -"

Crack

Mark's fist colliding with Roger's jaw

Mimi's own drops in astoundment

"you asshole! You bastard fuck face son of a bitch! You have no fucking idea! I'm not out drinking or whatever shit you think, I'm not out doing anything fun for myself! You have no fucking idea. This isn't about me….. " A beat "Just.. just get away from me. Get the fuck away" he's screaming now, and Roger's merely staring at him, rubbing at his jaw. Mimi is on the verge of tears. " you are so fucking STUPID. You don't give a shit about me, you're not worried where I am. You're just fucking using me to kill your guilt. Because I got you through withdrawal and you've done shit in return. Because you were dumbass enough to fuck up your life, Because every time something was wrong, you'd go right ahead and fuck me, and then take it back" Mimi took the fucking thing metaphorically, not literally "because you don't fucking know what to do with yourself. So making a big show, acting like you give a shit about me might let you sleep a little better, Might ease that guilt plaguing the back of your mind obnoxiously even if just a little. Well fuck off. I don't need your pity, fake or not. I don't want your fucking hallow words. Haven't you already proven I'm not enough for you? That what's going on with me doesn't make a fucking difference? So lets just fucking leave it that way! Oh yeah and by the way, maybe if you got off your lazy ass and were making an actually fucking income I wouldn't to be out letting people fu-"

He stops,

sighs loudly

and storms toward his bedroom

Silent tears roll down Mimi's face as she shrinks further behind the doorframe.

Knock knock knock

They all turn to the metal door

"Its fucking open" Mark yells, turning to make his way into his room

"Hey uh" Deep voice. Mark cringes. " Is.. Uhh… what's his name.. the one from the corner of 32nd? Little shit? Blond hair blue eyes? Glasses.. Real cheap? Uhhh. M…m….m… Mark. Yeah, is Mark here? " The subject goes rigid in his tracks

"Who the hell are you ? "Roger scowls, going immediately bitter and defensive. Mimi absently thinks he sounds jealous, but dismisses the idea as the large, husky man in the door way speaks again

"Oh, I'm Derek. Forgot to pay the kid, went back to his man and the guy said I could find him here. He took half of the money though, something about the workers fee or whatever. Anyway, I might be an asshole, but I'm not heartless, and considering the good fucking he was worth, and how he went with that whole fantasy thing, thought it fair to bring him his money. Besides, Didn't wanna mess with Eric's top worker, 'd probably get a hit man after me or some shit. So uh, is he here or?"

Roger just stares.

Blank

His face his eyes,

Blank.

Mimi places her hand over her mouth, feeling she is about to throw up

Mark closes his eyes and inhales slowly before approaching the man.

"Yeah hey, thanks. 'preciate It" Mark says hurriedly, willing the man to leave before Roger makes to murder him.

"Cool" He gives a small wave and exits, neglecting to slide the door shut behind him.

Mimi makes for it quickly and flings it shut behind her, before running down to her own apartment. She can't listen to it.

"Wa-wa-you…" Roger Is wide eyed. Breathing erratic. No. no. no. no. no. no. no.

He cant fathom this.

Mark shrugs

"Now you know" he turns and heads towards his room. Trying so hard to be nonchalant. Had Roger not been in a state of shock at the time, his shaking would have given him away.

"You're a street whore" he's still stuttering.

Mark pauses before grabbing at the door handle

"We needed money. We ran outta food. You ran outta AZT. You got that cold. We needed medicine. Couldn't not do anything .You die, I die"

He moves forward

"But Mark you're -"

The door slams shut, the lock clicks.

"Already dieing."

Metaphorically, of course.


	12. With You, It's Always Midnight

**A/N**: **( SERIOUSLY SUGGEST YOU READ THIS, SINCE IT ISF THE CHAPTER'S WORD COUNT.) **Okay okay okay, so I am SO FAR beyond livid and fucking freaked and lacking sleep and a mess and wow. I mean holly fucking fuck. get this shit.

Okay so first and foremost, anyone and EVERYONE who has ever met me knows of my undying -unwavering -passion -obsession- eternal love- I -could- go on -for- days of music. And I mean we all love music but I mean like MUSIC. Like I read every theory book I can get my hands on, take voice, piano, theory, conducting classes ( all with the same person) and am in the music wing of our school CONSTANTLY. I mean constantly. I mean if someone is looking for me they are immediately sent to the music wing. The teacher that guards that hallway after school who only lets your through if you have a legit reason knows my face and I am the only one allowed without question. If anyone ever has a question about music, specifically the voice, they come to me. Immediately. My name is completely associated to music the moment one hears it. I am a self taught ( and now taking lessons to improve) pianist, guitarist and take ( CLASSILY TRAINED !CAUSE I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT GENRE YOU'RE ENDING UP IN YOU SHOULD BE CLASSILY TRAINED ) voice lessons. I hum and sing CONSTANTLY. And I mean it NEVER stops. I break into song and dance in public places CONSTANTLY. I love classical acoustic and theater music.I am the lead role of the school play,( opening night is next Friday :D) the soloist in choir, and the piano soloist for the band, despite not being in It. Okay so, then comes my general music/ choir/ select choir/ everything else teacher. I cant ever BEGIN. She is like everything. She is the reason I discovered music and the sole and only reason I am even performing ( the thing I love most, ahhh gunna be on Broadway someday). I mean if it weren't for her, I 'd be sitting in a corner sing/ whispering like at my first lesson in 6th grade ( I'm in 8th, I'm 14)Changed my entire life. I am her music student. I take all my lessons ( save for piano, gunna take them from her student teacher whom I love as well) from her. I know everything I know, due to her. And you have NO FUCKING IDEA. What she gives for all her student. Almost everyone who's had her has LOVED her. She's young ( 27) and all, and she's 'cool', but I mean holly shit. Beyond awesome. Okay example: There is a girl in our select choir whom has a crippled hand (the doctors pulled on her hand too harshly in the birth process to put it shortly.) One day, Someone asked her about it, why she was like that and she got kind of withdrawn and stated she 'didn't like to talk about it' My music teachers breaks from the middle of her conversation turns and looks the girl in the eyes; "Hey! Don't you dare be ashamed of that. Look at me. Don't you ever be ashamed of that or anything about yourself. Ever. Do you hear me? You're are gorgeous the way you are" and oh yeah, also my first voice lesson when I used to be shy and quite ( Before I acquired the right to tell her to 'shut the fuck up' and she could reply' I'm gunna punch you in your fucking face' ) The first thing she said to me was "Honey, you're voice is gorgeous, so uhh yeah by the time I'm done with you, you aren't gonna be afraid anymore. Its gunna be more like 'Uh yeah bitch, you better listen to me cause uh' ya hearddd' " ( blackest white girl you'll ever meet). I mean I owe her everything. A small group of 5 of us sit in her room with her for lunch everyday, I'm in her office/ the choir room everyday after school. She is just beyond amazing. Because not only does she instill the passion for music into students too unstable to do so themselves, yet she is just… a person. You're not just a fucking kid to her. Not to mention she's hysterical, and loves to dance to lady gaga, and has the best stories. Just wow okay so. Not only has our school district decided that they need to take our choir room BUILT FOR SINGING WITH ACOUSTICS ON THE WALLS and turn it in to the weight room for the fucking football team, because theirs is being RECONSTRUCTED at the high school ( even though we don't have any MONEY) and the one we ALREADY HAVE at our middle school isn't big enough apparently, But the music budget is already completely frozen, they cut half the teachers last year, we haven't been aloud to buy music ( by the way we don't HAVE a drama budget, our teacher pays the THOUSANDS of dollars for it ) and they're cutting drama next year. They're cutting band out of the elementary schools, and trying to cut major aspects of all the music programs. And get this. THERE IS A 98% CHANCE MY MUSIC TEACHER WILL LOSE HER JOB THIS. FUCKING. YEAR. When she called me in her office and told me I nearly threw up. So, we (music program) are scheduled to speak at a board meeting on Tuesday the 20th . A group of like 5 of us she chose are to sing the school anthem ( we are having a contest for the lyrics) at it, and we're doing all this shit and having people writing 5 reasons why music is important and writing down the ones we like and all this shit. It's a mess. Tomorrows we find out if she keeps her job. I am ( A hidden, well kept, you'd never guess a thing was bugging me) mess. Completely and totally can't even begin to sleep, going to go insane, humming 'Without you' constantly. It isn't fucking fair, I just… I can't even being. If any of you met this women, whom is like my sister I suppose, you would just... Die. If she tells me she's losing her job, I have a feeling imma loose it, punch something ( I don't cry. Ever. Haven't in years) and storm down to the principals office. I have THE worst temper EVER. I will probably end up throwing a fit, or demanding to talk to the super intendent like RIGHT THEN. I just I can't even begin to describe any of this shit and all the fucking frustration. It's so fucking stupid. I've already been beyond fucking sick of this school for years but this... This is just beyond shit. Music is everything, and they don't give a shit. it's the reason half the population even fucking bothers going to school, doing anything for that matter. Don't get me started on THAT. I've already written 2 pages. So yeah. That will probably be channeled into this chapter. Just sayin'. Too bad the author note is as long/ longer than the actual chapter.. Whatever. Not in the mood to care. ( Wow, my grammar seriously goes down the fucking toilet when I am have like a conniption-ish spazattacke. Eh. That's kind of what happens when you mess with Music around me)

By the way, we're all lucky I'm still alive to write this, due to the fact that on Itunes I found a techno hip hop bubble gum bull shit remix of Seasons of Love, and immediately after one of a Beethoven song. I very very very so very nearly dropped dead on the spot. Then when I was told of the music cuts and the 98% of a loss of job, I nearly nearly nearly dropped from a heart attack again.

Title is Always Midnight, by Pat Moh something or other. Lead singer of train. Awesome song.

**By the way, I have no idea why I switch tenses so frequently. Oh well. **

With You, It's Always Midnight

_(Present of the story once more, about one minute after Roger informed Mimi he, indeed, did not love her. )_

She scoffs, giggles, laughs bitterly. Phased. And yet trying to scrounge up some amusement, because she wants so badly for this to be amusing. To be a joke. She doesn't know what else it could be. She fears that if she were to release her death grip on the concept of amusement, she would be left with nothing. Nothing to look at or see. She doesn't fear opening her eyes to find something terrifying, but to instead find nothing at all. So she grasps at it being funny.

Haha.

She giggles again

" What?" She scrunches her nose quirkily, a subconscious habit of hers.

He just gives her a blank look. She examines him playfully, and smiles again. Sly. Coy. Beautiful.

She always was beautiful

Not to who she gave a shit about

"Rog?"

He stares past her

" Rog, c'mon baby jokes over. What's this all about?" She waves a hand in front of his face.

At the wall

She giggles again and bites her lower lip

"Roger. C'mon stop it"

Her smile falters only a little

"Rog not funny really"

Collins somber features don't quit identify his eyes, Angel simply seems to be in pain. Joanne's eyes refuse to leave the scene. Maureen looks down, not wanting to be read at the moment. Her eyes would betray her she knows.

"Roger" He face has gone straight now

He shakes his head side to side a few times

"Roger?" She's getting a little more panicky

"Roger this shit isn't funny, you're not even gay. We're in love, remember? I see through you. This isn't funny anymore"

And then his eyes flick to hers

She looks. Reads them. Fucking looks. Fucking _sees _

She wishes she hadn't

"Roger!?!?" Her voice Is desperate now .Desperate and angry and cracking and high pitched and pained

"ROGER!?!" She's yelling now, crosses the room quickly to stand before him.

She grabs his collar and begins to shake him

"ROGER?!?!"

He looks at no one.

Didn't even bother to look at her

Well of course she was in his line of vision. His pupils were fixated directly on her

He didn't look though

Didn't see a thing

She screams fiercely, an odd combination of his name and simple incoherence

She just wanted him to fucking look at her

It's as if he's gone blind

Click

Mark's bedroom door swings open

Everyone halts as they are

He walks across the room. Mildly. Un hastily, inapprehensive. Just easily

Coldly

His eyes don't move

Their dead

He's gone blind as well

She glances back at Roger

Wish she could take it back

begins to tremble

Because he's _seeing_

He's fucking seeing

He's fucking looking

Mark

At Mark

_He_ made Roger fucking look

Only him

She pushes away from him

Mark is still blind

Unrequited can do that to you.

Don't try and make 'em see if they don't want to

Silence is louder, just barely than screaming

Dry humor, aimless musing, sarcasm

All masks

We feel we only need to live for a purpose, a point. We always need a fucking point.

He makes his way to the door, and walks out

He shuts it tightly

He never shuts it

Roger lets him.


	13. If Only, If Only

**A/n:**

Whoa its been a while. Well I've been…. Busy isn't the word. Spread way too thin, and am emotionally and physically drained. I haven't written in forever because :  
-She got fired ( read Author note in the preceding chapter) I can't even form coherent sentences about that yet, despite it having been weeks ago.

-Opening night and all the performances of Beauty and the Beast went AMAZING, one of the best moments of.. Ever for me being when Beast and I walked out for bows. Everyone else comes from either side of the stage, taking their bow and moving to stand at a spot further back stage. Naturally, smaller roles such a ensemble come out first and in large groups, and larger roles come out last and on their own with everything in between. Beast and I were the last people to take our bow, and we got to walk down the 'West Wing' stairs ( we're the only ones who get to do so) It was amazing, cause everyone took their bows and looked up, and the music would suddenly change to this majestic... Awesomeness and we would come walking down. EVERYONE in the ENTIRE audience ( sold close to 1,000 tickets over the course of 3 days) stood up and SCREAMED and clapped insanely, and continued when we took our own personal bow before the one with the cast. I signed 10 autographs, took 23 pictures with people I don't know, hugged ¾ of the audience, got 9 bouquets of flowers… and my sisters, who live in South Carolina and NYC ( I'm in upstate NY, about an hour from Albany) were there. And I was the only one on stage that wore a body mic the whole time. Amazing.

-Save the Music Program shit is in full swing, last night over 100 people showed up to the Board of Education meeting. We protested outside, then went inside for the meeting. For about 3 hours after open forum began, we talked about music and music only. Over half the audience spoke. Hell yes. I can't even get into that now though, I may explode. My friend brotherish person ( Beast from the play ) and I have a appointment with the Assistant Superintendent on Monday to speak to him about the Music program. I actually am supposed to be writing what I am to say right now, but I mean how do you try and make someone see, understand? Music is my life. It's like trying to explain why I breath,

- Audience for Annie ( I HATE Annie, it's cliché and stupid and horrible and gross, but I take any and I mean any chance to be in theater) In the community, and got the part of Grace, which is the Leading Lady aside from Annie ( I was told I would have gotten her, but I'm far too old at 14 to be her) And, quite ironically, Beast ( I think it's funny I refer to him as that now) Is daddy Warbucks. Hhhahahahha.

That may be all. It isn't but I doubt you read these due to the their length anyway.

If Only Is not mine, it is from the book holes. I personally love it, for not only are the lyrics amazing, but the song really doesn't have a super specific sound. I mean there are vague suggestions as to the general melody of its original but no one knows for sure. It is open to interpretation. By the way, the song they made on the sound track with it? I hate it, I think it sounds nothing like the original would, and I hate all the verses they added on.

**Once again, random tense changes? I don't know why. **

**Win for whoever can figure out what 5th "Dosent Matter" says and how to read it.**

**Thank you so much RedBrick for your AMAZIINNNG review!**

**Oh and this is dedicated to Sarah. Stay strong baby, stay strong.**

**If Only, If Only. **

_( 2-3 days after the last chapter)_

He hated himself  
He hated that he took so damn long to do this  
To throw it all away, get it away. Get it goddamn out  
To grow at least _some_ fucking balls and do something  
Mark had done the same in the past for his sake, and it seemed the only plausible move, even if a bit extreme, at this point.  
How did he let it get this bad? When did it even begin?  
Why didn't he fucking notice or do shit till now?

Didn't matter

He repeated this to himself again and again

Didn't matter

Didn't matter

Yes it did

Didn't matter

DyIeDsN'T MiAtTdTiEdR

Didn't fucking matter

Didn't make a difference because now it was gone, the last of Mark's stash washing down the drain.

The realization dawned that the apartment now smelled strongly of alcohol, which would be of no assistance to the matter in the least. Almost like waving a baggie of smack and a needle in front of his face on the second day of withdrawal

He shuddered.

_( Mark had said Boyfriend about two years preceding the beginning of RENT. Amidst a short interval of time when sex was common and casual with the two ( Mark & Roger), done whenever they felt like and never mentioned later) _

Mark used to have a boyfriend. A long time, a little more than semi-serious one, with a large strong build and short black hair that would be curly if it were longer. His name was Josh and he was sweet with blue eyes and an amazing sense of humor. Although he wasn't hanging with the group as often as some would expect, he fit in perfectly when he was. Everyone loved him, he made them laugh, liked to discuss philosophy/physiology, and, being a Bohemian himself, identified well with all. He was a great painter and artist, knew the best clubs and got you in for free. He loved his art, loved to read, loved the outdoors and LOVED Mark.

Roger hated him

No more like loathed

The guy was an ass, he reasoned, with that arrogant son of a bitch smile ( not unlike his own the others argued, but he countered that his was cocky not arrogant) plastered permanently on his face. He hadn't liked the guy the moment that met, although the circumstance hadn't been ideal. More like ironic. Really.

_He sighed, reaching the top of the staircase and adjusting his pants once more. His mind numbingly dull bartending job had left him restless, the dirty dancing on the floor having put ideas in his mind, which then wandered to things and people and what he was going to do to them when he got home. He hissed lightly as his arm rubbed against is leather jacket, red and tender from the numerous pinches issued for the last hour of his shift and the walk home. His pants weren't necessarily loose and the small burst of pain assisted in taming him some. But now, hand landing on the latch of the loft door, he didn't bother to try and contain himself. He'd been waiting all night to get at Mark, and was completely prepared to charge in and do something short of molesting him. He pushed at the door, already tearing at his coat and loosening his belt. He throws the leather on the ground hastily and raises feverish eyes to scan the area for Mark._

_He suddenly goes rigid._

_For there, on the couch is Mark.._

_And some guy._

_And they were _going at it

_And he fucking meant __**going at it**_

_Mark was atop the other man, his hands on either sides of the others shoulders bracing himself to hover above. The man was resting with his back on the couch, reaching up to meet Mark's mouth and squirming restlessly. The tongues of both were firmly down one another's throats as far as humanly possible, it seemed and they squirmed/ thrashed widely in ways that would suggest being on fire. Their breathing was so desperate and labored Roger could easily hear it across the room, and whimpers of names, please and incoherent sounds filled the air at short, erotic intervals. The man's hand was fully under and pushing at Mark's shirt, the other alternating from digging into his hair and ass. Mark's hand was firmly down the others pants and seemed to be working something considerably well for the man's reactions. Mark lowered his hips and began to grind against the other, biting at his neck and moaning louder.  
He'd never seen Mark dominate before. _

_Roger, with that goddamn heavy feeling in his stomach that was merely disappointment that he wouldn't get laid tonight, turned to leave, but bumped against Mark's bike on his way out, causing it to clatter to the floor and Mark to snap his head up_

" _Roger?" He turned his head, yet remained propped up over the man, searching the semi-darkness for the musician. _

" _Hey, yeah sorry, I was just leaving"  
cool. Calm. Casual. Please let it sound that way. Please_

"_Oh no wait I uh-" He moves off the man awkwardly, who smacks him in the ass playfully and then helps him off slowly. He than looks up and smirks at Roger devilishly. _

_Don't run. Stay. Stay cool. Don't throw up. Don't get pissed. Stay. Stay. _

"_Uh, yeah I brought Josh hear to introduce you guys. Uh Josh, this is Roger. I've told you who he is" Josh stands and eyes Roger quietly, that arrogant, slight smile never faltering. _

_Don't punch him don't punch him don't punch him…_

" _And Roger, this is Josh, My boyfriend" He says it slightly rushed, as if to get it over with. _

" _Oh hey"Aloof aloof aloof aloof aloof aloof aloof. _

"_Hello." He replies somewhere between slyly and friendly before shaking Roger's hand. _

_Roger doesn't allow time for awkward silence to set in_

" _Not bad Marky. __Hey, nice meeting you. I'll probably being seeing you around a lot huh?" He says suggestively winking at him and Mark "But I really have to go, Nick got a new amp which we need to learn and work with, I just came home to grab this" He grabs his electric where it resides beside the doorframe of his room_

" _It's 1 A.m." Mark calls as Roger makes his way toward the door. Josh wraps his arms around Mark's waist and Roger suppresses a grimace. _

"_Yeah well, you know how we like to annoy the shit out of his neighbors" _

_And shuts the door_

_Just disappointment. You wanted to get laid. Disappointment _

Everyone else loved the guy however, and at a few points Roger himself began to think that maybe he might an okay- ish person.

That is, until Mark start coming home with bruises

Nothing he said. Fell down the stairs he said. Ran into a wall he said. What the fuck ? Where the hell did that come from? He said. Cut himself shaving he said. Got mugged he said. Got hit in the eye by a waitress in the life he said. No the long sleeves don't make me too warm, I'm cold he said. Oh no, the bloody tissues are from a knick while shaving he said. Josh was busy, that's why they never ever saw him any more he said. He always went to Josh's/ Josh never came to the loft cause he wasn't feeling well/ was tried and didn't want to come all the way to alphabet city he said.

And then one Tuesday, Roger and Collins were hanging in the loft and Mark was out with Josh. Roger had just handed Collins another beer before sitting back down and resuming their conversation when the loft door slid slowly open. They didn't notice at first, as was probably hoped by the intruder. But Roger's eyes quickly found Mark as a floor board near the bathroom squeaked.

"Mark?" He narrowed his eyes and quietly scanned the man, who had frozen. " Mark!" He springs from the couch and races forward, grabbing the other's arm before he can make any movement of escaping. He then, holding both of the filmmaker's arms firmly, spins the young man to face him. He winces

"Mark what the _fuck_ happened!?" The right side of Mark's face had turned ugly shades of purple, while the right was splotched with red. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his lip cut open, bleeding. Bumps had raised upon his forehead, an indentation from a ring melded into his right check, and blood caked under his nose as it had obviously bled a lot.

HE had done this. Roger knew. Knew that cheesy ring with the swirls on it indented in Mark's skin. Knew the bastard had been doing this for too long. Knew Mark wouldn't admit it.

" Mark, who did this to you!??!?" Mark laughs warily. He really is a good liar. Excellent. He can pull off anything. But he doesn't feel like lying right now

"You'd think after years in the city, I'd be able to get around without being mugged. It's about my tenth time, who wants to throw a party?" and Roger was strangely calm. Strangely and uncharacteristically lacking anger and rage, but asks softly

" Then why is the pattern from Josh's ring imprinted on your cheek?" Mark sighs. He's so good he doesn't even need time to formulate responses. Not that he really feels like trying to right now

" He's not the only one who has the ring Roger"

" Mark" still calm, still eerily soft and gentle " I know it was Josh.. He's been doing this to you for a while now" Mark opens his mouth to protest, but instead sighs and bites his lip.

" He was drunk he didn't know what he was doing . I mean he's just been having a hard time lately and sometimes I'm an ass to him and he's just so tired, and I give him a hard time on top of that.. I shouldn't have asked him grab me the glass of water. He wasn't in the kitchen to be my slave .."

"Collins" Roger interrupts . Too calm. Too collected. " Help me get Mark to bed. Mark" He turns and squeezes the man's arms gently, reassuringly. Marks flinches as if in pain. Roger grits his teeth then softens. " It's not your fault. Please Mark. He is fucking abusing you. He's an asshole. You understand that right?" And honestly, He did. He knew that in the first place. He wasn't weak, he wasn't dumb.

"Yeah.. Yeah I know.. It's just.." Mark is beginning to look afraid and shaken, despite half hearted efforts not too. " He's really fucking muscular and gets so pissed and If I left I don't know what he'd do…." He flinches a little and Roger pulls him toward his bedroom as gently as possible. Mark is quite shaken and the last thing he wants to do is be the one to upset him. He pulls Mark's shoes off, and follows with his shirt.

Oh god.

Bruises, scars, cuts,

His wrists and arms display discolorations shaped as fingers.

And god he's too thin.

Too fucking thin.

Roger finds a clean T-shirt and throws it over Mark's head, trying not to be sick.

Gritting his teeth so hard he fears chipping them.

He reaches for Mark's pants, but Mark pushes him away

"I've got it" He mumbled blankly. He pulled at his jeans and slid on a pair of pajama pants hastily, as if trying to keep Roger from seeing. He still catches the bruises leading up into his boxers.

He clenches his fists at his sides and feels his nails digging into his skin. Moments later he feels blood. His teeth continue to grind and he's pretty sure he feels a hard chip or two on his tongue.

" I'm not going to let him do this to you. Ever a fucking gain. Ever. He isn't going to lay a hand on you" He assures Mark sternly, helping him into bed. " I promise" He removes Mark's glasses and has Collins bring him a warm wash cloth, with which he cleans all access blood from Mark's face. He then bandages the things that need to be, and pushes Mark back against he bed " Sleep" He commands "He's never going to touch you again. I promise"

"… thanks Rog."

" No problem Baby boy" A nickname that had been created from ages ago, when Roger and Mark had been young and in middle school .

" Hey Rog?"

" Yeah?" He turns back from his track to the door to meet Mark's eyes. His swollen bruised eyes, set largely in his swollen bruised face. His finger nails return to his palms, his teeth ready to crack once more

" Don't… Don't go after him. I don't want you to get hurt.. He has weapons and he's a lot fucking bigger and more muscular than you-.. "

"Don't worry" He's trembling with suppressed rage " And I promise, he will never touch you again."

He closes the door gently

And dashes toward the loft door

" Rog!" Collins calls " where the fuck are you going?"

" To fucking murder this fucking bastard I swear to god they are never going to find his goddamn body because it is going to be so fucked up it wouldn't be recognizable anyway"

Collins tries to get to him, to hold him back and calm him down cause, damn, that boy had always had the worst temper he'd ever seen

But he'd never, ever seen him this enraged

Ever

But Roger was gone and Collins was already thinking how he would scrounge up the bail money

Morning rolled around and Roger returned. He sported a few bruises or cuts, but barely anything more. Except for his knuckles, which were swollen and aching and possibly broken, if that was possible.

And he was covered with blood, which wasn't his own.

When asked he simply told Collins he didn't murder the guy, but only because there was nothing to do it with

Needless to say, Josh didn't show up again.

Mark was extremely appreciative

And the next day, as Roger entered Mark, a sensationally familiar feeling indeed

He tried to ignore the bruises

( _Forward to the same time as the first section of this chapter) _

He doesn't know why it took finding out Mark was whoring himself on the streets to do this

Finding out he doesn't care

But he can't bring himself to regret having done it, having found out in the first place

Even after Mark stormed into the loft to find empty alcohol bottles spread about

He simply stared for a moment, which left Roger holding his breath.

He scanned the room with his eyes slowly, and finally rested them upon the bottles, as if addressing them as opposed to Roger

" Doesn't matter" His eyes, his face, blank. His voice monotone. He's shook his head a few times before shrugging his shoulders casually and turning to Roger " Doesn't fix anything." Roger shivers " Doesn't fix the real problem" and just continued to stare at him, as if he expected Roger to say something. As if he knew what he was about to say anyway. Maybe he did.

" Mark you're an alcoholic. You're whoring yourself on the streets for money!! That's not your only fucking choice! I know its not! You're hands aren't tied. You do have a choice. So why the fuck would you choose that? I don't get it. Just please, just… just stop belittling me and my capability to understand for about five seconds and tell me. Say something. Anything. Tell me something. Thousands of words in the past few months, yet you haven't _said _a thing. "

"Nice track marks"

He doesn't even look down. He knows they're there. Expression never faltering. Was it possible for ones face to be so permanently blank?

"Nice way of trying to appear aloof"

" Nice way of trying to act like you know better"

" Mark wait.. Fuck. Just … just" He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs helplessly " please. I mean you… fuck… just.. Never again. Please Mark. I'm sorry I haven't been…. I've been with the band so much and.. " He looks back up at Mark, at his cold eyes ringed with something else, something he cant place. At how he looks too fucking young for all this shit. That he is too fucking young.

And they wondered why he didn't believe in fucking god.

And suddenly he's across the room, pulling Mark to his chest and clinging to him for dear life. And stroking his hair and whispering and whatever else, acting as if Mark needed comfort. Hoping he would just fucking break down and cry and scream and sob and get angry or get desperate or something. Anything. Please. _please. _

He doesn't

"Never again Mark. You'll never have to do that again. You won't. I promise. You won't. Never again" And Mark gives in easily, because it's Roger. And only because it's Roger.

" Alright. I won't. It's Alright. I wont anymore."

Roger simply began to sing something, something Mark didn't recognize, which was odd, because he knew all of Roger's music, and everything Roger listened to as well.

"It's the terror of knowing what the worlds about" Mark eventually figured Roger wasn't about to let him go anytime soon, so, lacking much of a choice, he closed his eyes against he others chest and listened. Listened as the unknown ballet sound morphed into a considerably odd folk sounding melody

"If only, If only the wood pecker sighs

The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies

While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely

He cries to the moon

If only, If only.

If only If only

The moon speaks no reply

Reflecting the sun, and all that's gone by

Be strong weary wolf, turn around boldly

Fly high my baby bird

My angel, my only."


	14. Tragic As An After Thought

**A/n: **I will not to speak of why its been sooooooo MOTHER FUCKING long. Bitter.

This chapter is dedicated to Anthony Rapp's extreme spazticness and Adam's awesome leg bouncing thing he does and how much I love listening to them both sing. I literally almost cannot watch the show if those two are not playing Mark and Roger.

Anyone wanna count how many times I say fuck, fucking or some form of either in here? If you do, leave it in the comments. I'm interested.

**Based upon the fact that, if you listen really closely to the movie version of Will I (although I like the OBC one far better), and follow only Anthony, around 1:40 ish, it sounds as if he says " Yes I lose my dignity" As opposed to " Will I lose my dignity" **

_( I think you can figure out the time once you read it) _

**Tragic As An After Thought**

Everyday acknowledges what is, and what should be

What should be, what should be, what _should _fucking be.  
What isn't  
What will never be

Another drink  
_No other path  
_Another bar  
_No other way_

Good one irony, you got me.  
Ha ha fucking ha.

Because you can't just fucking deal with it can you? Pussy. You can't fucking deal with life. 

Just like your goddamn father

Crack head, prescription drugs, cigarettes, now alcoholic.

Cant deal with reality, huh Mr., Actual reality filmmaker?

Ever since high school  
You just need that fucking drama, don't you ? After all that, you accuse Roger of being a drama queen.  
Can't just let it be.  
Can't just…

Ninth grade  
White powder  
Crack  
Rolled foil and pills and needles  
Rich kids can afford rich drugs  
Pretty little towns have easy access to pretty little toxins  
11th grade supplier  
Too fucking young

Where the hell did he get it anyway?  
Where the fuck did he get it?

Crack head

What a fucking lovely term  
The preacher man's son. Wonderful, sweet, polite, little son. Who showed not the slightest sign of a flaw. A problem.  
Nope, not the smallest problem.  
The needle stuck in his fucking arm  
Perfectly fine.

The way-too-thins and shakes and pangs and bathroom breaks. Sleepless.  
Damn sleepless.

Ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth.  
Grow up. Grow the fuck up. Suck it up. Put up or shut up. Give it up.  
Look what you've done. Don't cry Maureen. Roger, don't beg, please don't. I'll break. break.  
"Give it up".

Thank god they were clueless.  
Dear old mom and dad.  
Pass it off as the flu

Same difference. Same, same the fucking same.  
No difference…  
The only difference:  
Pride lack, lack there of.  
Will. Did. Will I? Did I ?  
Lose my….

College. Severe migraines. Severe migraine prescription.

Fear

Don't do it again damnit don't.  
Grab another cigarette. That's good enough. It is. It is.  
The world won't be beautiful. You can't make it. They can't make it.  
It can't make it worth a shit.

...

...

...

...

Where'd they go ?  
Recommended dose? 12,20,2?  
Oh 2  
Not 8. Not 10. Not every hour. Not every ½ hour.

Meant to be, should be, shouldn't be, might be

Doesn't matter a fuck in the light of what is.

No Benny, I'm fine. Haven't had one in a while actually. Yeah. Huh? Really? Big breasts? Huh? And a twin? Smoking hot? Come with? Well sure, Not a memory holding me back. A person. An idea. A what was. Would have been. What could be. Not at all.

What? Empty bottle?

Hey, yeah they're back coming back. They're horrible. Nearly passed out the other day. Throbs really, hurts impossibly. As soon as you can? Well you don't have to-. Well if you insist. Thank you, my cheesy fake smile and I appreciate it.  
Well look at that, all you need to do is take one here, swallow one there. Smoke one here, and twist your mind up some. Look it's twisted and distorted,. It's not real. It's different. Just tweak it some. Just like words.

Overwhelming? You were a student once too and you know how work is overwhelming? You understand? You fucking get me? You appreciate me grades and how great they are?

...

Well, when did that happen?

Now look at that, that empty bottle.  
Empty fucking bottle  
Shattered fucking bottle  
Chipping fucking wall  
Throbbing fucking head  
Protruding fucking ribs  
Sleepless fucking eyes  
Needing fucking more  
Fuck this

Everyone else with their fucking fake fucking smiles your whole life  
And those bottles, those pills  
Make you like them.

...

That fact is enough.

No, no I'm alright, just a flu I think. Go to class, I'm fine.

Months.

No, no really. I don't need it anymore. I don't get migraines any longer. Haven't in ages.  
Go behind the building and bang your bare fists against a brick wall. Distract from the migraine pain.  
Worst.  
Wont go back. Wont.  
Wont lose it again  
Wont lose my….

The loft, a drop out.  
New York City, lower East side.  
Access, access, fucking access.  
No, look at Roger.  
Look at the track marks.

Look at Mark's marks.

No. No. He needs you, he does.  
What? Want to get off smack?  
Need my help?  
Yes, of course. Not easy yourself. Not easy any way. Not possible yourself.  
I would know.  
No, no the cold water helps  
I would know  
No, you're alright. You can do this. This is the hardest time  
I would know  
No eat this, you can keep it down. Its one of the few things you actually can  
I would know  
Do this. Yeah like that. It helps ease the pain.  
I would know.  
It'll be okay, only a few weeks more  
It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it….  
I'm sure. I promise. I wish. I hope.  
It is, it is ..

What? For a woman? A lawyer?  
HIV positive? The mirror was right?  
you're gunna fucking shrivel up and die in front of me, when it pained so horribly to merely see you in terrible withdrawal?  
What? A teaching gig? You're going to send us as much money as possible? Moving out? Allison? Muffy? Rich?

alone

The sinks not even dripping, the wind doesn't even bother to rattle the windows.  
Come here its okay.  
What? Oh this black eye?  
Oh no you didn't do anything. No I fell. Don't cry, come here.  
Almighty rock star  
Beat the shit out of me during the day, cry and beg for me to hold you at night. Forget it all by morning. It's worth it.  
I can handle it. I can  
The tiles don't still look red  
Promise.  
Another drink never hurt  
Now where did all these bottles come from?  
Don't feel a thing.  
There is nothing. Nothing there. I am shallow and emotionless. Promise.  
Nothing unrequited. Nothing that's been there forever.  
Nothing else the drinking is trying to drive away  
Withdrawal=oblivious=ignorance=no-need-to-hide=too easy=more =too far gone= too much  
Fucking vodka. And rum. And wine. And whisky. And beer. And Stoli. And tequila. And-  
All better. Everything's okay. Everything's calmed down. Everyone's together.  
Why don't you stop then, huh Mark?  
Everyone's alright, so why are the bottles still accumulating? Huh Mark?  
Addiction. Yes that's it. The ONLY reason.  
Solely addiction.  
Hypo fucking crite  
Stop thinking, stop it.  
Don't reach out.  
If you reach out your and, only the wind will be there.  
That's poetic!  
That's pathetic.

Get up.

You have life support. You should be there. You promised. don't be more of a fucking hypocrite.  
Harassing Roger to come, you're not even there yourself.  
Get your ass up .  
Oh god that stings  
Probably shouldn't have cut that deep  
The jean fabric rubbing against it kills  
The bartender waves. Cause he knows you that well.  
What a big, walking cliché  
Cli fucking ché  
but what isn't?

* * *

" Mark, what the fuck? The school actually has good food for once! Pizza! Why the fuck aren't you eating it?"

" Not hungry Rog"

" You ' haven't been hungry' for three weeks now Mark"

He was pale. Lost significant weight, the last thing he had needed in the first place .and didn't seem to be eating. Dark bags resided beneath his eyes, and he was jittery/ restless , as if he simply had consumed too much coffee. He was a fucking mess.

And Roger wasn't stupid.  
In slight denial, maybe, but not stupid,  
It wasn't healthy to lose that much weight in such a short time or to appear as Mark did. He knew that something was wrong, it was obvious as hell, but what… - well what?

Drugs? Mark? .. No.  
Alcohol? Were those even the symptoms of- . no.  
He would then be like his dad. He hated his dad. He would rather be anything than like his dad.  
Stress? It was finales week…  
Oh god… oh god had his father…?  
No, no. He didn't do that.  
He may be abusive and drunk, but he hated ' faggots'  
Something else? What?Self harm? Eating disorder? (Didn't only chicks have those?)  
No, that made less sense than…  
It had to be stress and abuse and sleeplessness and forbidden meals due to ' talking back'  
Fuck he hated Mr. Cohen

" Well I don't know, school food still doesn't appeal to me. And I have some more shit to do and I'm just… not hungry right now"  
" Oh… okay" Roger returned to absently pick at his pizza and Mark scratched the track marks on his arm.

Month six

" C'mon guys, I really need to find a fucking bathroom!"  
" Mark" Maureen shoved Roger as he bumped into her " We just stopped on the way here"  
" Yeah, Cohen, what's with the lack of blatter control lately?" Roger asked, examining a window display  
" I cannot …." Mark spoke in fragments, as if he couldn't concentrate on the mere task of speaking " be held… responsible. For my. Bladder control"  
" but-"  
" or lack there of" he finishes a few moments late.  
" But dude, the mall is packed, you honestly think we'll be able to find a bathroom not jammed with people? Even the guys rooms are filled."  
" I dunno Rog, I think he really has to go. He's like… trembling"  
"No its not… cause of that. I had. Coffee earlier… and…. Oh what? Oh and I thought it was de-café. Apparently. Not" They never questioned him. Anyone else, they would be beyond suspicious. Not him.  
" Yeah, look it's 12 p.m. on a Saturday at a Mall. You think you could at least wait a little so the bathroom line isn't extending ALL THE WAY OUT HERE? C'mon Mark you're a big boy"He doesn't look pleased. Maureen hated it when they got snippy at each other.  
" Yeah Mark, you know neither of you have ANY patience. At all. You think you could… Wait? I mean… yeah."He looked pissed now. But he wouldn't' snap at Maureen. He refused. He just wouldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to.  
" Yeah c'mon guys lets go in here. Mark forget about-"  
" Shut the fuck up Roger! Jesus Christ, you know what? I gotta piss, and I don't give a shit if anyone comes with or not. I'm going to find a fucking bathroom. Good bye asshole" He glared at Roger and turned away, quickly falling into that wide, heated stride ill-tempered men tend to get when ruffled in public - Because we all know what that looks like-. Maureen winced. It's not like she wasn't used to such occurrences, Mark and Roger had extremely ill tempers alike, despite differentiations in which the trait manifested itself. Conventionally, she was unfazed, yet Mark had been acting so contrary to himself lately, that she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Under usual circumstance, Roger snapped and got pissed, while Mark turned quit and cold. Fire and ice. Mark let Roger get pissed and yell or whatever, and let him get over it. If Mark did get pissed, it was in a cold indifferent way, that lacked any sort of lashing out. Yet, his temper, or his management of it rather, had seemingly gotten worse over the past four… maybe five? months or so. She hated it. She hated their fighting. They were a breed of best friends she had never before witnessed, and them fighting just didn't… seem right. Something didn't seem right. It hadn't for a while.  
"Ass" Roger murmured, pushing past a group of people and making his way toward an instrument store. Maureen sighed, and followed behind Roger, acting as if she didn't catch that glimpse of worry splayed through out his eyes .  
His mind kept reverting back to the same thing . He knew what this was. He knew this. But it couldn't be. Mark was Mark and there just wasn't a way.

Mark found them a little while later, seemingly happy and considerably calmer. Maureen smiled, and Roger followed a while later. And when he pulled Mark by the crook of the arm, willing him to follow as they departed from a store, he didn't notice the way Mark flinched.  
Because he hadn't run his fingers along a sore spot, where the needle was shoved in just a little too hastily, a little too carelessly.

Because that wasn't there

Not at all

Year 3

Shit shit shit shit shit shit

Moneymoneymoneymoney

"Please mom? Any chore you want. I really want to stop being the moocher when I go out with friends. No ones highering anywhere. I looked every possible place for a job. Mom, c'mon"

Jesus he needed a hit.

His mom wouldn't even let him WORK for fucking money.

What could he sell?

There was nothing left. He had nothing left of value, He'd sold it already. Shit

The watch! The watch his uncle had given him!

" Mom I'll be back, I'm going to grab some film, I'm out-"his mom wouldn't even let him go fucking out. So what if it was after nine? He was 17 for fucks sake. It was close enough to 18, he would be fine driving. Who cares if it wasn't exactly legal? It was close fucking enough.

Shit

He'd have to wait till she slept

Shitshitshitshit

Considering it was 10 o'clock on a Wednesday night in the middle of July, there wasn't much option

Roger! He'd call Roger

" Hel-"

"Hey man! Can you do something? I need to get out of this house" Roger almost never questioned Mark when he claimed he needed to get away. They both knew how his dad was. Mark never talked about it. Ever. He refused. But Roger had witnessed it and they both knew. It was unspoken

"Oh shit Mark, I just got in huge ass trouble. My ass is grounded. But I mean if he's being really bad or you just need to get out I can just tell my rents to shove it-"

" No, no its okay" His dad wasn't even home and now that he considered it, he didn't really want Roger to see him like this. He wasn't quite sure of himself at this point, and Roger wasn't stupid

In denial, maybe, but not stupid

" No its okay lets just.. Do you have time to talk? I mean if you don't or whatever-"  
" Mark! Its fine. Of course I do. Hey, wanna hear about this dream I had last night?"  
"I'd rather not here of your sexual life, and considering the only sexual life you posses is that of girls In your dreams, I'm good" A small glimpse of the normal Mark. Rare those days

" Shut up you ass wipe, and listen. No it wasn't that" Roger laughed, and he could hear Mark smile through the phone

It was an achievement

Two hours later, and they were still babbling. Cause they tended to do that.

" And then a fucking marshmallow showed up" Roger was recounting his weirdest pot trip, while Mark was laughing and shaking and sweating and wishing his mom would GO TO FUCKING BED ALREADY. " And then-"

"SHIT"

" Mark!"

"Roger don't get off-" and then he's running to the bathroom to puke and wretch and wish he was fucking dead and that his mom would **go to fucking bed.** The contents of his stomach are quickly emptied, seeing as he barely ate anymore, and he was soon wondering why the fuck it just wouldn't stop, because nothing was coming out, and the dry heaving hurt his fucking ribs like a bitch. Finally he stopped, and despite every fucking little bone and joint and whatever the fuck else he hadn't cared enough to listen about in science class in his body protest to the full and most painful extent, got up. He splashed his face with water, rinsed his mouth and begged his legs to at least make it back to his bed. His muscles were catching in his shoulders and his head was beginning to pound, and he was shaking and sweating like crazy and just wanted to fall on the ground and fucking die. But Roger was on the phone, and Roger was waiting, and he _knew _Roger hadn't hung up and was beginning to worry, because he _knew _Roger.

"Hey" oh god it had been an adventure getting back across the room.

" MARK! What happened! I heard you getting sick, are you okay?"

" Yeah I just" Wait what? What had he been saying...? He couldn't remember and- oh shit that hurt. Something hurt. What hurt? Everything. Everything? His head. His muscles, his bones, his skin, his blood. He was shaking so fucking hard now. How long had it been since he had a hit? 5 hours? Oh god that was an eternity. He curled up in a little ball and prayed he would just stop fucking shaking. And that his mom would _**GO TO FUCKING BED. **_

" Mark!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, sick I think. A flu"

"Man that sounded bad, I'm coming over-"

"NO! no man, my, my dad and…" he trails off. Sensitive subject. Good lie. He wouldn't prod.

"I.. oh man Mark are you sure? I could probably take him-"

"No. No. I'm a big boy Rog. I'll be okay. Really"

"I - but.. I mean... fuck…. you… I could.. You didn't- you don't. You.. I…. okay. Yeah you, you just uh.. You know." Sensitivity and displays of affection were NOT his thing. But Mark heard unsaid things just as well as said

"I know. I will."

" Okay good. Now you just, you… uh"

"Will do Rog. And yes I promise I'll call tomorrow. Night"

" Oh okay.. Uh… feelbetter. Night"

Dark! It was dark! The hallway, his moms room. Dark. He quickly snuck out of his room and down the stairs, having memorized long ago exactly where to step and where not. He quickly retrieved his keys and was off, supressing the overwhelming desire to speed, for getting caught when he wasn't legally supposed to be driving, while experiencing obvious withdrawal symptoms and sporting fresh track marks and crack cocaine in his system was not a good idea. Soon, eventually, after a few moments or years or days or minutes or he didn't know or care he arrived at his dealers place and made his way to the basement window. He snuck in quickly, relieved to find it was still open at that the eleventh grader was still awake. And apparently so were his buddies. As Mark entered the basement, he found a seemingly upbeat party taking place, despite it's slightly down scale size, and quickly pushed his way through and located his dealer, who was lounging on an old sofa sideways and stoned, along with some buddies of his .He seemed amused by Mark's appearance, and quickly realized the opportunities presenting themselves to him.

"Hey kid, you really really need a hit don't you"

" You know I do asshole" Mark never lashed back. But he needed it so fucking bad

"Ooo, snippy snippy. Maybe I shouldn't give you shit. I've got enough customers, no loss of mine"

"No wait" Mark had dignity. A lot of it. Almot too much sometimes. If he could see himself right now, he would call the kid a shameless fucking little junkie, and comment on how he couldn't believe the kid had no dignity or self respect and how sick it made him. And probably add a slap in there. He would be disgusted. But he felt nothing but need " please, please I'm sorry. Just, just please. I'll do anything."

" You really want that hit" He looked around at his friends, all wearing identical amused looks, and ready to have some cruel laughs out of this desperate kid " Do what I say" Mark nodded eagerly. He couldn't even think.

His dealer looked around at his friends, and they exchanged a few whispers before he turned back and smiled icily at Mark.

"Get naked"

Mark was there in seconds. The dealer busted into laughter quickly, prompting everyone else to follow suit, despite lack of explanation. " You're so fucking small! Look at you kid! What is that, a shriveled up piece of broccoli?" It was contrary really, Mark was actually abnormally large, not only for his age, but for a male in general. Yet,

His dealer enjoyed being cruel.

And apparently, everyone else in the room did as well, as they all stared and pointed and laughed .A few began throwing things at him, and others shouted obscenities. He just took it.

"Hey kid, do me a favor. See that empty coke bottle over there? Well no one wants it anymore, so why don't you go ahead and shove it up your ass. And I'm serious, now go do it or try and find someone else who had access to half the shit I do."

And so Mark did.

He walked over, allowing others to smack his ass, his balls, his penis along the way. Seemingly unaffected by the cheers and jeers and cat calls. He grabbed the bottle, walked back to his original spot in front of the dealer, and promptly inserted it into his ass. Hard.

It hurt like fucking hell.

He cried out in pain, the first response from the daze he'd been in. Everyone else merely laughed.

"Oh god man this is hahahhha, this is- oh wait I got something else!" He whispered to a friend, who ran up the stair case and returned a few moments later, a mild sized, fuzzy dog clutched in his hands. A collie Mark realized later.

" Not only are you to suck, and jack off my dog, but you are to fuck him as well"

Everyone clapped and laughed and yelled as a response, and Mark didn't process a thing. He merely did as he was told.

Not only was it difficult and odd, and eventually hurt, but he now sported many bruises and scratches.

But they weren't done

"Lie across that table right there, and sit still" He did as told.

And was promptly whipped, tortured, and degraded for quit some time. Fingers and other things, including markers and pill canisters and vegetables were inserted into him, he was forced to suck varying body parts of others, and was clothed in varying items such as wigs, makeup, clown clothing. He was made to do or say certain things, and eventually was told to get up from the table and kneel in front of his dealer. The dealer then pulled out a little baggy, and swung in front of Mark's face

" You want this now? Huh? You want it? I think you deserve it after all that, don't you?"Mark simply began to shake harder and stare at the packet as if it held every element of his life. The dealer slowly began to hand it to Mark, who began slowly moving his hand to snatch the plastic away and run. Yet his dealer pulled away at the last second ,waiting only until Mark's finger tips had grazed the plastic slightly, and quickly smacked Mark's face, unzipped his fly, and shoved himself into Mark's mouth.

"Suck damn you. Suck or you aren't getting shit"

And Mark did.

And Mark chocked, and his eyes watered, and he was ready to pass out from pain and oxygen deprivation but he did it. And swallowed when the man finally came. The dealer then promptly punched him in the eye, and shoved a packet into the boy's hands and told him to " get the fuck out, and you're not getting your fucking clothes back dumbass"But he did hand Mark 4 packets, as opposed to his usual one.

Maybe he did have a heart.

And Mark ran home and ran to the bathroom and ran for his needle and shot up a little too much and ran to his room and got dressed and ran to his bed and fell asleep so he could just keep fucking running.

Year 4

"Roger, I think Mark has a problem" Maureen sighed, staring at the figure passed out on her bed.

" Ha really? No shit. This is the 6th time in the past two weeks we've found him at some party or shit and he's been high." Roger sighed, and eyed the others boys rising and falling chest wearily, attempting to extinguish the irrational fear that he would stop breathing altogether

Roger wasn't stupid,  
In denial maybe,  
But not stupid

" I feel like a fucking parent" . Under usual circumstances, Maureen would have snapped back at him, retorted something offence assonating with his bithchy nature and testostirone leves, and promptly shut him up or walked away. Yet, as he relaxed onto the bed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, she couldn't find the heart to do so, and instead knelt down beside him. They sat in silence for a few moments before Roger suddenly stiffened up with a sharp intake of breath, his muscles tensing, and got to his feet. He made his way to the opposite side of the bed, and haphazardly reached for Marks wrist. He grabbed at it, and pushed the others sleeve up roughly, holding his breath in anticipation… In fear

A mere 4 track marks rested upon the surface of the others skin, and he allowed an audible sight to escape his lips. They had reached him before addiction. Oh thank god. If Mark..

He shuddered.

didn't want to think about it

"there are only 4 track marks here. We got to him before he got in too deep-"

"Oh god he shoots up?" She sounded as if the wind had been knocked out of her. It actually had " Oh god h-"

"Hey. At least we got him before…" He swallowed, quickly becoming aware as to what a pussy he was being. He stiffened up and focused intently on keeping his voice under control " before he became addicted"

"Yeah…" Maureen sighed, moving to sit beside Roger, who had dropped to the floor and was resting his back against the bed. She dropped beside him and rested her head on his shoulder " Yeah I guess"

They never thought to check his other arm.

Or to wipe the makeup he 'borrowed' from his sister off of the one they examined.

For the first week, once or twice a week

for the first month, 4-5 time a week

Third month, once a day

Fifth, 4 times a day

Eight, six times a day

The next three years : Every few hours or less

Do the math.

2 days later

"Please Roger, you have to talk to him. You're the only one he'll listen to. Roger he just yelled at me, Roger he just hurt me. Mark. Hurt ME. Maureen. I reached for his arm, I was going to ask him what was going on, and he grabbed my wrist and yanked me away. I have a bruise Roger. This is serious. He's not addicted yet, he only has four track marks, maybe one more. But he must be getting close. So you have to go. Go. Do it. Now" She shoved the teenager into the others general direction, and Roger shot her a half hearted glance of annoyance, took a deep breath, and proceeded to Mark's side. The filmmaker was sitting beneath a tree, a forgotten lunch tray resting beside him, and a book on his lap that he was falling asleep into. He jumped as Roger voiced his name, and upon the others waking, Roger couldn't help but notice the bags under the others eyes, the way he tapped his fingers anxiously against the ground.

Roger wasn't stupid  
In denial maybe, but not stupid

"Mark, we need to talk" he plopped down beside his best friend

"About?" His eyes darted away and back, away and back. His finger continued to tap.

" About… about those" He pointed to the crook of Mark's clothed elbow, knowing the other was perfectly aware of what he was referring to. " About how we've been picking you up from all these parties and you've always been high… god I sound like a parent… Mark we.. What I' trying to say.. We.… " Sigh " Mark, I think you have a problem"

Mark sat quietly for a few moments. Roger feared his response, anger, violence, emotion? He really did. He braced himself. What he didn't expect, however, was hysterical laughter.

"HAHHAHAHHAHAH Roger, you're.. you gotta be fucking kidding….. HAHAHHAHA"

It has been FOUR FUCKING YEARS, and ' I think you have a problem' FOUR FUCKING YEAR, and they JUST started to figure this out, they THINK he has a problem? He couldn't help it. The hysterical laughter simply couldn't be suppressed, and he found himself completely losing control .

"Roger" He smiled, wiping away a tear, and suppressing more laughter at the sight of his friends face. His hysterics could have and had easily been interpreted incorrectly by Roger, implying that Mark had found the feasibility a problem existed humorous, as opposed to the real humor mentioned, quit tactlessly might I add, above. "Roger I don't have a problem. Don't worry, I've just been trying shit. I haven't done the same drug twice, and don't intend on it either. I just wanted to get all the testing and shit outta my system. And-" Roger looked slightly skeptical, so Mark was perfectly aware of what must be said to rid Roger of any nagging suspitions and himself of Rogers questioning " My grades and shit and my parents and my … my dad lately" He sombers up, coughing into his hand to hide the smile that threatened as Roger did as well. " So you know. I wanted to get out of the house and have a little fun. But I mean-"

" I heard you hurt Maureen earlier" Mark scoffed

" I did not. She's such a drama queen. I was late and she was all grabbing at my arm and trying to be all serious. She wouldn't let go, so I took her hand away and moved on, not a big deal"

"But you.. You-" Yet he cant really find anything further to discuss, so he simply adds a comment about Mark not going to parties anymore. This grabs Mark's attention

"Roger, you're not my mother. I might still go every now and again, at least until I'm finished with all the applications to schools."

" But Mark, you cant keep getting fucking high as a kite all the time-"He was starting to itch, and squirm and sweat, and did NOT have the patients for this

" Jesus jack ass I don't, so what I experiment with drugs or alcohol every now and again at parties, Who the fuck doesn't ? Besides who the HELL gives you the right to-"

And then a scene had begun, and Mark and Roger yelled some more, before Maureen came running over crying and beging him to stop using, and finally the entire thing stopped and Mark promised them he would too, and Maureen hugged him and walked away, while Roger gave him an awkward macho back pat, before looking around to see if the coast was clear, and pulling the other into a tight hug. As Mark patted Roger's back, a sinking feeling slowly settled into his stomach, for now he knew he couldn't back out. That he had to do this and they were right anyway.

Winter break ( when he usually stayed at Roger's almost the entire time or vise versa)He and his family were 'going on vacation' as he endured a horrible, painful withdrawal. He was out of school for another week after school began again as well, with a horrible ' flu'.

_And Roger, wasn't stupid.  
__In denial maybe,  
_No, not maybe.  
Defiantly in denial.  
And it **made** him stupid.  
_But not stupid  
_

_Did I lose my-_

* * *

"Mark man Jesus! What's going on? Should I call someone!" Benny leans near his new dorm mate, who is currently doubled over in pain and has already thrown up into the garbage can residing beside him, and attempts to form coherent thoughts. He'd never been one for handling urgent situations.

"No, no Benny just… just calm down" He's forcing words out through grit teeth " it's a migraine. SHIT SHIT! FUCK AHH! I- I'm prone to them just- just get me the medicine it's, it's in the drawer. My bed side- SHIT - table" Yes, migraines he's prone to, with medications that are meant to prevent them from getting this absolutely excruciatingly unimaginably painful. Yet, pretty little pills make for pretty little addictions. This, he knows too well. And so, he doesn't recall the last time he let one of this pills, one of those… touch his lips.

"HERE! HERE IT IS! Here Mark I… oh shit water ahhhhh hold on…" He runs off and Mark probably would have laughed at the way he was panicking like a teenage girl… he really would have laughed

If he weren't in unimaginable splitting pain

"HERE, here's the water and.." Mark grabs the pills and water out of the others hand desperately, because this is just SO FUCKING RIDICULOUS

And then, what isn't?

What isn't fucking ridiculous and scarred and un finished and just.. What could have been and what should have been and what will never be? What isn't tainted and scratched and killed by that, and that.. that wishing and that knowing that the wishing isn't worth it, no matter how badly you want it to be.- Even atheist need something to believe in.- That there is nothing here, but at least you can complain about here and state that you're trapped and forced to live with nothing, as opposed to the truth. That there is nothing any and everywhere. Where is SOMETHING? And you say this, and you say that, but it doesn't matter. Because everything , everything is always so FUCKING FUCKED UP , even if its not. Hell, its more fucked up than ever if nothings wrong. If everything's right and pretty and perfect. Because its not. Its FUCKED UP. And it always will be. Nothing can make the world be beautiful. Nothing can make it be fucking worth it or anything. Such a fine, fine line between pure morbidity and truth.. because its SO FUCKING WRONG AND SO FUCKING FUCKED UP. and this. there isn't even a way to say it anymore. You can say whatever you want, words and words and millions of words… And you wont say a fucking thing. Obscenities, expressions, the strongest words you can think of. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK and you still haven't said anything. Not a word. I FUCKING HATE YOU and you've hardly made a point. And is it because they're deaf? Are they forced to be, or do they choose to be ? Are they afraid and can't deal? Or is it because you simply haven't said anything, so they're hearing is fine… there is just nothing for them TO hear. And it is just so fucking RIDICULOUS and so fucking FUCKED UP and I've said it hundreds of thousands of millions of trillions of countless times but it never (seemingly) leaves my lips and Its never enough. Its never there. And if the world were to end today, blow up and end existence and leave it with a big void and nothing... It wouldn't be any different than now,. Because there is nothing, And there will never be anything.

He awakes in his bed, his vision blurred and a vague hangover like feeling lurking behind his eyes. This happens sometimes, when the migraines get exceptionally bad. His thoughts blur together and begin to ramble, and he passes out. Some of his most profound and fucked up -why does it feel like that phrases has occurred a little too frequently as of late?- thoughts were born by these unconscious rants. He sits up to find Benny, pacing like a fucking lunatic , beside his bed, casting worried glances all about the room and debating, seemingly with himself, weather to call for help or not.

"Mark!" he cries, upon the realization the other has awoken "What… what the fuck happened? Are you alright?" Mark flinches, for the others voice is irritatingly loud and shrill, and rubs at his eyes

"Benny shut the fuck up you're loud. I'm alright, this happens sometimes. Just hand me my glasses" Benny silently does as he's told. Mark adjusts to the light and flinches , because his head fucking hurts, and it usually takes a while for the pills to kick in fully anyway " How Long 've I been out?"

"Only about 15 minutes. Jesus Mark, what the fuck? I read the back of that pill package, aren't you supposed to take that shit to PREVENT this from happening? I mean what?… I mean… Jesus you fucking scared me" Despite the pain continuing to filter in and out of Mark's head, he cant help but smile at Benny's spastic display of affection

" Yeah well, I haven't gotten one in a really long time. Figured I didn't need them anymore. That judgment went straight to hell." Then he laughs " Awwww Benny wenny was a-scared for me. You gunna be okay, or you need to change your big boy undies?"

"…. ass"

"Indeed I am. A sexy one at that"

"…. just start taking your fucking medicine"

"No, actually I was thinking of NOT taking it, you know? I mean what's better than unimaginably splitting pain and feeling as if a rusty nail is being driven directly in your forehead and forcing your brain in half? In fact, lets make a bet, how long can I go BEFORE I have to be taken to the hospital! Now why the FUCK would I take my meds, when we could have all this fun without them?"

…

" I fucking hate you, and your damn sarcasm"

"Love you too roomy, love you too"

_You wont get addicted, you wont get addicted, you wont get addicted ….._

* * *

Empty bottle

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh _fucking shit_

His hand hit's the wall hard

He'd bothered to read the bottle once. After he'd over dosed drastically and purposely. He was only supposed to take two. He took 8

Then he stated taking 10

Some every hour

Some every half hour

And it'd been months and here he was

Here he fucking was

With the bottle shattered against the wall because he fucking RAN OUT and he fucking NEEDED IT and his ribs protruding to all hell and his eyes lined with bags that looked about to weigh his entire head down, because it was so FUCKED UP. And-

" Hey Mark? You here?" He quickly cleans off his bleeding hand with a bed sheet and kicks the shattered remains of the bottle beneath the bed, before exiting the room and slamming the door shut.

" Yeah , hey what's up ?"

" Man I just met these two-" He stops mid sentence as he catches his first glimpse of Mark

" Whoa Man, I thought you were trying to get more sleep. What the fuck, you look even worse. Did the migraines come back? By the way, how have they been lately?" Mark can feel his finger nails shoving into his palms, and pulls them out before they cause damage.

" I'm fine Benny I've just been… well out at night lately" He feigns a smug smile " And well... you know" Benny laughs

"Well look at you, you stud! And about the migraines?"

" I haven't gotten any in a really, really long while " Because you've been too fucking high off the shit 24/7 to even feel it if you did. " But What were you saying?" He's succeeding at suppressing the shaking, yet he feels it begin to intensify, and needs to get out before he can no longer push it down

" Oh yeah, I met these two fucking HOT chicks. I got us dates with that shit man! They're smoking hot, huge breasts, and get this, TWINS! Fucking TWINS man! I got us set up to meet them in an hour at the Starbuck across campus. Whadaya say?"

_Roger. What was. What would have been, what could have been. What could be. Roger-_

"Yeah, yeah sure" cue cheesy fucking smile " Love to man! Shit I gotta shower real quick then, meet you back out here in 20" He feels himself shaking _so fucking hard _as he walks off

He collapses the moment the door closes

* * *

"Hello? Yeah hey Doctor Cremler ? Hey its Mark Cohen. Ha- yeah Hi,. Uhm, actually I'm at Brown, majoring in ..law" He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice " Hahaha, yeah yeah, Oh yeah defiantly! Hahahahah yes of course" That cheesy fucking laugh he promised himself he would never master " Yeah well, it seems my migraines have come back, and that I've run out of my they're actually really, really bad, and quit painful... Oh no, I'm alright, there's just so much stress right now, that was probably the cause. Yeah. Yeah, as long as I have the medication im alright though. Yeah, Uh huh. Oh yeah, only the recommended dose, sometimes smaller, and at varying rates. Sometimes I need to take them everyday for a week or so, and sometimes I only need them once or twice over a few weeks . Mhmm. Yeah. And I have a roommate too, so. Yeah… yeah… alright thank you, very much, I really appreciate it. Yeah, uhm send it to the CVS , on Perry Street, directly next to the campus. Yeah. Alright. Alright. Hahhahahahah alright, will do. Alright. Thanks again" Yes really, my cheesy fake smile and I appreciate it " alright." His hands are fucking shaking to all fucking hell " Alright, take care, Alright bye"

He slams the phone down

And slams the phone against the wall

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Hunched over and bleeding and coughing and shaking and hurting and wishing and fucking _wishing _and hating and and and and-

Fucking ridiculous

This is fucking ridiculous

You can't make the world beautiful

You can't

They can't

Can't

And just fuck

Words are such shit

Such shit

Words have never meant shit anyway

Never.. Made any sense

Or were loud enough to make anyone fucking listen

Cause nowhere days, you gotta scream to be heard.

All those fake smiles

Those fake fucking smiles he loathed with every fiber of his being his entire life.

Those fake fucking people..

The pills

They make him like them…

With that fake fucking smiled plastered on and that fake fucking sense of understanding and giving a shit and.. And everything

And he was like them

...

That was enough

" Mark baby, you still look like shit. I guess this isn't an over night thing, huh ? You want me to stay with you? The teachers can shove it-"

"No Benny its fine I-" He buried himself further under the covers, because Benny isn't dumb, and if he sees the shaking… oh god it hurts " I'll be alright. Besides you've actually been working in some of these classes, don't ruin that because of me, go. I'll be okay" C'mon Mark, close the deal " Although I will miss you " He smiles slightly, almost meaning it, and Benny runs his fingers through the others hair one last time.

" Well… alright.. But if you need anything, you don't hesitate to get me. But call! Don't you get your skinny -yet sexy- ass outta bed, or I'll come home and mutilate it " He leans over and pecks Mark, who is suppressing a sarcastic retort, lightly on the lips, before turning to leave

"Love you babe"

"Love you too"

-well of course they were together at one point, why the fuck do you think Roger hates the guy so fucking much?-

Oh Jesus he needed it. He needed.. He needed

Think of Roger.

Think of Maureen.

Oh and Benny, of course Benny.

You have to…

Shit

Fucked up

He turns and burries his face in the pillow

And screams

Cause nowhere days, you gotta scream to be heard

_Will I lose my- _

* * *

He doesn't remember when it started

Yes he does

He just doesn't want to

When he found out that Roger was going to die

Bar after Bar and drink after drink

No one noticed

No one was around to notice…..

He's nearly to life support

_The first night he came home completely drunk, Roger was at home, High as fucking hell, having used the last of stash, because he wanted to quit and was going to, but he missed April so bad, and it hurt so much, and why waste what's left? Roger barely knew where the fuck he was, and considering the fact Mark was not yet calloused to alcohol consumption, he didn't either. _

_Well… not entirely _

He runs in, now realizing how late he is and slows down out side the doors, so not to draw attention to himself. He walks in slowly, and is met with a heavy sense of pain and fear a regret

Fucking great

_He knew enough. He had sobered up slightly at the bar, having already thrown up a few times and regaining the capability to at least make it home. He knew he was in the loft. He knew Roger was high. He knew Roger would do whatever Mark wanted him to_

He smiles at the usual crowd. Maybe missing one, maybe missing two from before. Dead, in the hospital. He didn't know. He didn't care

….

Yes he did

_Get down on your knees bitch. That's right. Pretty little rock god. You aren't so high and mighty now, are you ? On your knees in front of me _

Doesn't bother to smile at anyone

_Yeah you spread your legs, whore. I'm in charge for once. I'm in fucking control of fucking something…. Oh god…_

Takes his place with his camera and begins to film

_He wont bother to get tested. Doesn't matter. He was on top anyway. He was the one being sucked. He did the kinky shit to Roger. Not the other way around._

A lone man stands up. Scarred and hollow and scared and fucked.

"Will I lose my dignity?

Will someone care?

Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"

Yeah you fucking will

_in and out and up and down and oh god oh god _

_And screams of Aprils name shouldn't have hurt like they did_

No. they fucking won't.

_And he shouldn't be able to remember it when Roger can't_

No, you fucking won't.

I would know.

Join in, you're supposed to join in

_Roger didn't… doesn't even know_

And _it's_ all _so_ fucking _fucked _up

And he looks up

And look who's fucking there

Who's fucking walking In and taking a place beneath Collins' arm

Looking down at the ground

And trying not to-

Mark can't help but smile

He just has to fucking smile

How ironic

How _fucking _ironic 

Haha good one irony, you got me

Ha ha FUCKING ha

_And _it's _so_ fucking _ridiculous _

Will I lose my -

Will I lose my-

Will I lose my-

Will I lose my-

Open your fucking mouth and sing Mark. What are you afraid of ? The truth may come out?

He meets his eyes

Everyday acknowledges what is

And what should be

And what will never fucking be

"Yes I lose my dignity"


	15. The knowing

**A/n**: Okay, Okay I suppose I deserved only one review last time. It had been soooo long. But I am updating this maddd soon, so I expect reviews.

And oh my god, Thank you so much glambert! They literally took my half joke and counted how many times I said fuck, as well as giving me a fucking amazing review that made me smile sooo much. A lot of you guys could learn a thing or two!

_(The present of the story once more)_

Mimi backs away slowly

That's the only answer she needs

Your eyes, your eyes….

She looks shocked and terrified and hurt and lost and utterly broken, though the right to feel so wasn't entirely hers. And she backs off and stutters a bit and tries to make a some fucking sense of this.

But she doesn't and can't and It can't and it's been fucked, always fucked. Since the beginning., since before the beginning. Utterly fucked. And she runs her fingers through her hair and looks about and pulls her lips in and makes a face as if she is about to burst into tears. She shakes her head a few times, her fists now firmly holding hair at the back of her scalp, before turning her neck, head following suit, to the ground and closing her elbows in around her face. She resurfaces moments later, shaking her head and gritting her teeth and just… just.. Just.. Breathing. Breathing and breaking in an odd, uneven, well kept way. She didn't know how to break. She never had before. usually she screamed. She screamed and got pissed and raged and was fire.

Now she was cold.

She gave him a .. a look.

"Fuck you"indifferently and coldly and just….the end.

He doesn't reply

She shakes her head and exits, closing the door behind her

And everyone turns and looks to him, Angel torn between going to her best friend and remaining where she is.

BAM

His foot makes contact with the table

Thump

He stands up, and begins to smash things, punch things, kick things, break things

And you'd think after breaking so many times, he'd be more graceful at it. Didn't one always say something about beauty in the break down? Any type of tragedy or melt down or broken fucking person or break down held a certain degree of tragic beauty? Always?

They lied.

His hand makes holes in the walls, glass things are shattered and thrown about, furniture upturned

And yet, no one rises to stop him

They would have, they really would have….

If it made any fucking sense

If he was swearing or crying or screaming or his face was contorted and hurt and …angry.

If there was rage and rightful emotion present

But non was

His face remained cold and hard and blank and emotionless.

So. Fucking. Ridiculous.

And he punched one last hole and threw one last object to shatter, before dropping to his knees, and shifting to sit, and curl up into and upright fetal position, and hide his head in his arms. Angel leaves then, gesturing toward the door and indicating her intents of going to see Mimi to the others, before exiting, leaving the door open behind her.

"It's… it's my fault" Everyone jumps at the eerie disturbance, and turn to Roger, who remains in the same position as before, talking into his knees

"Its my fucking fault"

Another finally decides, builds the courage rather, to speak. The fact that said individual was Collins didn't surprise any being present in the least.

" Roger …. What.…?"

He just gave Collins a look

That look

"I raped him. I raped him and forced him and he took advantage of me and I used him and he used me and he's fucked up and I'm fucked up. And he cuts himself and I used to and I hurt him and all his scars are from me and I finally remember when he never got a chance to forget. He was never fortunate enough. And he's an alcoholic and a street whore and he tried to drink it away and I tried to shoot up enough to chase it away. Because he's In love with me, and He died ages ago. He died inside and partially on the out and he just.. Died. And I let him. And actually, not only did I let him, but I did it. I did. We are both so **fucked up**, we can barely even function. And you know. Ha, guess fucking what? It was me. I murdered him. My best friend .. My.. My everything… MARK. and, and you wanna know the funniest part ? The funniest fucking part. The real knee slapper Collins, wait till you hear this. It's great. Really it Is " He laughs hysterically for a few moments " we were running, afraid of the same thing… ha… the same FUCKING THING…. All that time…. All it woulda taken would have been an extra second or two. Spared fucking…. Everything... THE SAME THING...HAHAHHAHA oh god it's just too rich I can't even… and now.. Now it doesn't even matter a fuck. 's too late now"

" …. Why?"

"Because It's always been too late"


	16. So Dark We Forget Who We Are

**So Dark We Forget Who We Are**

**A/N- Fuck excuses as to why I have not written- I'm here now**.

**(In the two later sections when no names are specified and it's just He and he: He= Mark he=Roger)**

Hurt- to be in pain  
Pain- to be hurt

Circles and circles and circles  
we like to go in circles  
Circles to provide us with answers that aren't really answers  
At least it's an 'answer.'

Intoxicated- to be drunk  
Drunk- to be intoxicated

And he lied silently, watching the morning light bleed through the dark. Shake the uneasiness of the _knowing _from his lips.  
And he could love it for that, even if only for a moment.

And underlying the gold falling upon his throbbing chest, his memory.  
The dark,  
Resides with the other.  
Playing about his stride as the fresh bills provide at least a small solstice.  
A sound.  
's too damn quiet  
His own footsteps are silent  
Silent.  
Drowned out by the bills. by the fresh bruises. By the thought. By the _knowing  
_he's proof. Some men enjoy fucking 'helpless' little Jewish boys with a chin too chiseled to be pretty and eyes too soft to be handsome.  
Some men ( is 23 really a man?)  
Would enjoy beating the fucking shit out of said men -pervs-

If.

would do anything, If He could just make the Other let go.  
The _knowing  
_the letting go

…

And as he slid in through the door, the metal reflecting light he hadn't noticed until now ( had the rays been shining his entire way home?)  
The darkness covered him. Hid him.  
Clawed at everyone's eyes, at their desire to ASK

And he could love it for that.  
Even if only for a moment.

….  
-

..

...

The scars.  
The tragically beautifully ugly scars, on the tragically pale, beautiful skin  
And Roger wants to ask. Even though he knows, he always wants to ask.  
But if he asks about Mark's, Mark can ask about his.  
And he doesn't want to say.

..

..

..

The world's early afternoon- his early morning-  
After the fifth hour of 'sleep', he rises to meet the glass, and the blue that has turned gold and far-too-honest.  
And,  
And…  
and.  
He wishes it could be different, just a little bit… because…..

….fuck.

There were no becauses  
There are no becauses.  
And he steps his feet on the bright cold, because it can't be pretty and look and BE right at the same time, and wishes he didn't have to.

"Mornin' "  
"Hey"  
"Sleep okay?"  
_Sleep?_ what the fuck is he talking about?  
"Any coffee"  
"In the pot"  
"Mm"

…..

"….."

"…"

"Mark?"  
"Mmmhmm?"  
"…why"?  
It's not all that random as it may seem. In fact, it's been hanging in the air so long, Mark was pretty sure he was about to go mad. He doesn't even try to play fucking dumb.

The knowing.

"because"

'indifference' taints his words too much these days.  
No one asks.  
Well, they do.  
But He doesn't ask.  
So it doesn't matter.  
"Mark, please"  
He isn't getting pissed. He isn't getting pissed? Why? Since fucking when did Roger not get pissed?  
Look at the refracted light. Broken in spots on the wall and metal table. When things break, don't they have jagged edges? Ha, he should fucking know.  
Apparently, the light doesn't know that. Or doesn't care. Because edges are ugly…  
And it dances and it looks okay.

He likes that.

He always wanted to be okay. Never got there, but.

He always wanted it

"Mark" He had always loved natural light. Refusing to turn on any artificial lighting until the sun had fallen completely dark, and he lacked a choice. Even then, sometimes he didn't.  
Not that there was an option anymore.

Ha, how fucking symbolic.

"Mark?"  
He has always been a bit of a night owl. -Just full of contradictions aren't we?- twilights child.  
Then, who the fuck in New York City isn't? His eye catches a few stray bangle bracelets of Mimi's, haphazardly lying on the liked it when she wore those.  
They rain-fall sounded as she moved, and they made her feel happy when she wore them.  
And that made him, if for a moment, feel okay.

And he always wanted to be okay.

"Mark!"  
"Because" snap. Sudden. " Because I have to"  
"What? No you don't. what the fuck are you talking about? Mark... You don't…. you don't have to do-"  
So dark we forget who we are…  
Oops had he just said ( sung) that out loud?  
"Mark-"  
And all the scars of the never and maybes die...  
"MARK"  
"yeah I do"  
"Why"  
"There isn't always a because Roger"  
"JESUS CHRIST MARK, JUST FUCKING ANSWER ME "he smiles a little

"Can't."

"And why the fuck not?"  
"Because"  
"BECAUSE….?"

"let it be, let it beee.."  
"FUCKING CHRIST WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"he grabs Mark's arms and spins him around, faces inches apart  
"WHY"  
"Because." he snaps "because it doesn't matter…and maybe, just maybe, for a moment…it will"

Roger releases him. Confused. Weary. Bewildered.

"What?"

Mark. Cool. Aloof. Turns away, walking to his door and placing his hand on the knob  
"You know," he turns to look at Roger over his shoulder. Almost makes him smile.

"The dark looks pretty at night"

..

..

..

It's pouring fucking rain.

The kind that you only have to stand in for 30 seconds to be completely soaked. The kind that knocks leaves out of trees and that you fear just may beat a hole through your window, and sounds angry and stuck in the spot between more than pretty almost beautiful at the same time.  
What he'd give to go out and dance in it.  
He thinks of that, of twirling around like a 'pussy ass girl' because who gives a fuck, as the man behind him takes what he paid for. And just as the man begins to get particularly rough, Mark realizes, and winces and curses himself cause fuck, now the rain is going to be this. Now its going to feel like this and be like this and he's going to remember it like this.

Shit.

Now he can't even have the rain  
He can't even have the fucking rain.  
All he wanted was to be okay.  
All he wanted was be able to look at the light and see the light, and look at the rain and see the rain, and look at Roger's smile and believe it, and look at the dark and just see the dark.

..

..

..

Roger had one of his episodes when he found out what Mark was doing. Mark didn't know, But he had.  
It had lasted nearly an hour, and Mimi didn't know what the fuck to do cause she'd never seen it before. Only Mark and Collins new, and only Mark could cause it.

She should have known right there.

But he had smashed glass and punched walls and screamed with glazed eyes. He bruised Mimi- pushing her away, gripping at her wrists too-tight, and threw up and swore and shook and she SWEARS to god, she saw a tear.  
And when he was finally finished, bleeding and shaking, he sunk to the ground and rested his back against a wall, and curled up and stared blankly into space just long enough to make Mimi reach for the phone to call Collins, before blinking pointedly a few times. Looking, bewildered, around him, his eyes land on Mimi, and question her just as intently as his words do.

"Meems…what happened? What's wrong? Why are you crying?…what's going on?"

..

..

..

..

A sign of insanity is repeating the same action under the same circumstance and expecting different results.  
He didn't expect a fucking thing.  
He knew nothing was going to FUCKING CHANGE  
The cliché would just repeat… repeat…  
Yet, he was still crazy, wasn't he ?  
ha, how great  
Now he's even defying the fucking laws of insanity.  
Woop-de-fucking-doo  
Jesus, his life is one big metaphor.  
One big cliché, ironic, symbolic, metaphoric you-couldn't-even-write-that-shit tragedy.

How fucking great.

We tend to see the world as it _is_ and not how it has been, or might be, or could be, or should be.  
And so we see only this and not anything. Living in the now and seeing in the now are two completely different things. Because if he lives in the now, he's living the best he can. if he sees only this moment and nothing else..

Well…,

Fuck..

And he's tired of tactful and poetic and anything but blunt, but he doesn't know how to fucking say it.

..

..

..

his infuriatingly accurate ear picks out the gaudy A major to D minor transition in His averted or forced-to-be distance. he likes to think he knows more than he does. Acting as if he even knows what disregard means , he always turns back to the filtering light and plays the almost beautiful transition in his head, and disconnects it into a broken chord. his mind tightens as his chest does, and he wonders where the cold went and where it goes and what makes it, though he does know. he knows that He contemplates the way light filters and if it has reason. It filters because it isn't wanted, is being blocked out, so how, possibly, could it not leak through? Maybe it knows and maybe it doesn't and maybe it just means well, but that isn't the point. Why, a word he says too much, does this part get filtered in and this one blocked out? Is there a reason, is there a rhyme or a way or a why. Or is it just what it is, though just what is never seems to be as objective as it should be. Words are pretty and almost everyone hides in them. Words are always pretty and everyone thinks in them. Words are pretty and that the only thing we know.

..

..

..

Nighttime is an art. And the glitter gold twinkling city and the scar on your chest. In the rain, the pavement shines like sliver and gold of worlds and sky onward. Reach at the sky and the nothing and uselessly forget. Hope to forget what the cold in your eyes drowned and what clawed at his hair. The spots on his arms look like the spots in the sky but maybe a little different, but, like everything else, not enough to matter. Such as the two years wasted and the six months spent and the knowing that that was wasted too if He's too spent then he knows it's wasted. Irrelevance makes him laugh, double meanings make him hurt.  
Dysfunction has always been His thing,. Too fucking dysfunctional to function has always been his. Living through dysfunction is what He does, and he wonders how He does it. he's like a child, looks at Him as if He's invincible. Likes to believe it. Has not a reason, which is the biggest reason, to think otherwise. Sometimes he wants to say fuck it, just fuck it but all the time He can't let go. he never knows what he's trying to say or what He's trying to mean.

Fuck it.

..

..

..

..

When Roger confronted him again, he was his usual self. Angry because he was desperate. Mark could almost say he was grateful. Desperate because he was angry. His tactful ass approach of being a hot headed bastard. Though, Mark must admit, walking in at 4 o'clock in the morning with his shirt strewn about and exposed bruises may not have been the best idea. For some reason he'd thought Roger hadn't heard him when he left.

In retrospect, he was a fucking moron.

As he walked in he was met by a flash of pain in Roger's eyes, an occurrence which anyone else would spasm over, and rough hands grabbing a hold of his shit. Here we fucking go again.  
"The fuck, Mark?'  
Pissed, pissed, pissed. As usual. He isn't in the mood.  
"What the fuck" Mark cannot help but laugh at that  
"Well, you're an articulate one tonight"  
He didn't really think to brace himself for any of the violence that was sure to ensue. His grasp still firm around the front of Mark's shirt, Roger shakes him with more-than- a-bit of violence and Mark's sure all Roger currently sees is red.  
" You are such a mother fucking son of a btiching moron. You are so mother fucking stupid. I'm so tired of all this bullshit, Mark" He pulls away, but Roger grabs at his shirt once more and yanks him close. He grips both of Mark's arms too-fucking-tight ''why? Huh Mark? Fucking why? And don't give me any fucking poetic, tactful, drably bullshit. Just fucking tell me why" Mark just looks at his, seemingly crazed, roommate. Roger grits his teeth . "WHY?" he grabs desperately at Mark's face and cradles the sides hard, forcing eye contact "WHY, DAMNIT"  
"Because"  
"FUCK" this send Roger reeling in fury. He shoves Mark away, hard enough for him to stumble and nearly flip over the couch. He flails about and punches -yet another- hole in the wall, followed by the throwing of a chair the breaking of glass, strings of obscenities being strewn and Mark replaying how tired he is of this scene in his head. He brings his palms up to grip his hair. "Mark" through gritted teeth " Mark, please" when Mark doesn't answer. He can't help but turn around and look. Christ. The bruises under his disheveled shirt and the pale, too-thin exhaustion pulling down the bags under his eyes and completed with mused hair and long since faded track marks that Roger knows right where to find.

Ouch.

Fucking ouch.

To say the least

"Mark, please…"

"Shut the fuck up Roger'

The shock of that does make him shut the fuck up. '"since when do you care? I've only ever been the same thing to you as I am to them. A fuck toy. Fuck and then walk away. Fucking hypocrite. Please don't fucking PREACH to me, in fact, don't you fucking dare. You're such a fucking son of a bitch who hasn't given a shit till now, because now I'm not at your fucking beck and call. You don't give a fuck, so please don't act like you do"  
Roger reels as if he's been physically struck as Mark turns away to storm off. This should probably hurt less, he's heard it enough times, but the fact still remains that Mark usually isn't haste. He tends not to get caught up in the passion of the moment as Roger himself does, and conventionally doesn't spew meaningless, angry drabble that he doesn't mean. Mark usually means it. That fact, in addition to the numerous times Roger's heard the same thing…He feels a huge, sharp burn in his chest. It swallows him, seemingly. He doesn't have the energy to yell anymore, nor the energy to be pissed or violent. In reality, all he wants to do is run forward and grab his best friend, the skinny blonde boy, and maybe hold him. Maybe hug him. Maybe just touch his arm. He really doesn't give a fuck, he just needs to touch him. To know he's still there or at least have something he can dream on, because knowing he's there might allow him to believe that his is still there , even if only for a moment. He feels desperate, his voice sounds strained.

" Mark, please -"

"WHY Roger, fucking WHY" The snap is sudden and loud hot and Roger can't help but jump.

"WHY in the FUCK do you keep doing this? You. Don't. give. A. shit.!` you. Do. Not. Give. A .fuck.! Just shut the fuck up, stop sounding all desperate as if you're a victim, actually hurting. You're a fucking asshole who never. Gives. A . fuck unless you have to. Why do you even DO it Roger, why in the FUCK do you keep-"

"I love you"

….

Silence

"What?"

" Mark, I fucking love you. That's it. that's why. I do. You've been here since… fuck, since the beginning and you're my best- fuck beyond my best friend and beyond my brother, and fuck man I- hell I don't even give a fuck that I sound like a hallmark card right now, you're Mark and…fuck man, I care. Of course I fucking care. I .. fuck…. Mark. Fuck, of course I love you"

…..

He doesn't know what to say

"You-" His answer comes as needy hands, a needy hardness soon to be grinding up against his leg after a few more touches and needing to give in, because he knows It doesn't mean as much as or what it should . He does give in.

He always fucking gives in.

..

..

..

Sometimes Mark likes to look at Roger's elbow crooks and Roger likes to look at Mark's eyes as they sit in the neon chrome reflected black. And the dark makes it look like they belong.

And they can love it for that, even if only for a moment.


End file.
